--— ifriHriffH^^ 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE 
HARVARD  DEAD 

!.V  f HE  WAR  AGAINST  GERMANY 


r5>    ^ 


MEMOIRS 

OF  THE  HARVARD  DEAD 

IN  THE  WAR 

AGAINST  GERMANY 

I 

THE   VANCaiARD 


M  E IV I O I  R  S 

OF  THE  HARVARD  DEAD 

IN  THE  WAR 

AGAINST   GERMANY 


Hy  :\1.  a.  DkWOLFK  howe 


VOLUME  1 


(AM  HiniXiK 

iiAin  AIM)  I  \  I  \  i:i{>ir\  nn:ss 

M<M\\ 


COPYRIGHT,  1920 
HARVARD  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 


PREFACE 

Under  appointment  by  the  President  and  Fellows  of 
Harvard  College,  the  '*  Biographer  of  the  Harvard  Deatl  in 
the  War  a^rainst  Germany  "  is  preparintj^a  series  of  memoirs 
of  tlie  men  whose  names  are  inscribed  on  tlie  Harvard  Roll 
ot  Honor.  This  list,  now  exceeding  three  hundred  and  sixty 
in  number,  is  made  up  of  all  those,  ever  enrolled  as  students 
or  officers  of  Harvard  University,  wiio,  as  members  of  the 
fighting  and  auxiliary  forces  of  the  United  States  and  the 
Allied  Powers  in  the  European  War,  have  given  their  lives 
in  service,  or  in  direct  conseciuence  of  that  service,  pro- 
vided their  deaths  occur  before  the  signing  of  peace  be- 
tween the  United  States  and  the  Central  Powers. 

The  Harvard  War  Records  Office  and  the  collections  of 
the  Harvartl  Memorial  Society  have  provided  nuich  mate- 
rial for  these  memoirs.  Still  more  has  been  secured  through 
direct  corresi)ondence  with  the  families  of  the  "  Harvard 
Dead."  ]Many  parents  and  friends  have  been  most  liberal 
in  the  lending  of  letters,  diaries,  and  other  memorials.  For 
all  this  kindness  1  would  exi)ress  here  a  warm  a|)i)reciation. 

J'here  has  deliberately  been  no  altenij)t  to  "standard- 
ize" the  memoirs  with  respect  either  to  length  or  to  charac- 
ter. It  has  seemed  better  simf)ly  lo  make  in  each  instance 
what  could  be  made,  within  rea>()nable  bounds,  of  the 
material  a  I  liaiid.  J-Acry  cll'orl  has  been  put  fort  1 1  to  secure 
ecjUal  >ijpjjlic.>  (jI  iiiatcrial  liom  all  xiurco.  l>iil  witlioiil 
success.  This  will  explain  in  >()nie  measure  the  \aiyiMg 
length>  of  tlie  iiieiii()ii>  that  follow. 


PREFACE 

In  this  first  volume  of  "Memoirs  of  the  Harvard  Dead" 
only  those  thirty  men  are  included  whose  deaths  occurred 
before  the  United  States  entered  the  European  War,  April 
6,  1917.  They  were  "The  Vanguard,"  the  men  who  sealed 
with  their  blood  the  pledge  of  that  overwhelming  senti- 
ment in  favor  of  the  Allies  which  in  time  was  to  make  our 
country  an  active  participant  in  the  fight.  They  deserve  a 
volume  to  themselves.  Those  who  give  their  all  before  any- 
thing is  asked  must  be  held  in  separate  remembrance  and 
gratitude. 

Throughout  the  work  it  is  purposed  to  take  up  the  sub- 
jects, as  in  this  volume,  in  the  chronological  sequence  of 

their  deaths. 

M.  A.  DeW.  H. 

Boston,  March,  1920. 


CONTEXTS 

PAGE 

(tKok(;k  \\  11.1.1  a.mson      ( lux s  of  I'. to.',  3 

Edwahi)  Mwdki.l  Stone     class  i,f  i'jos  7 

AXDKE    ('llERONNET-CllAMPOLl.loN       Class  ,if  l!)0£  11 

11a1U)1,1J    -MAliU).\-("K.\\\  FOHI)       (  laa.'i  oj  1'.)]  I  19 

C \\.\\\  Wellington  Day     Crailuafc  School  ii)i2-lJt  23 

("ahlton  Thayer  Bhodhk  k     ( lass  <>f  ntos  33 

HaKHY    (irsTAV    ByXC       Class  „f  1U1S  41 

Henhy  Weston  Faknswoimii     class  nf  lOU  48 

C'iiAHLi-:.s  RoiJEKT  C'ku.ss,  Jr.     CUuss  of  i:)03  58 

AiuiiiHALi)  Hamilton  1^\MSAY     class  of  i!i07  70 

(lEORCE  Stetson  Taylor     class  i,f  iuos  73 

Al.l.KN     MArKFAZlK    ClECHOI^N       /nslnirtnr  78 

Cro^HV    (iiiH(II     NViIITMAN        Class  of  JJS.S<!  81 

Mj.iCRiLL  Stanton  (iAi  nt     Aiulnnr  I'.il-'i-in  86 

\'l(  TOR    IvM.MANlIlL    ClIArMW       (lass  of  I '.US  91 

(  i.'^Di.   1-"  AiRi'.ANks   .Maxwell     class  of  I'.U.'t  MU 

Alan  See(.kr     Class  of  iuio  los 

illAIM     .Vl'gustus   Coir      class  of  lUlO  \1') 

liol'.LRT     |-!l)OI    \l(l>     l'l.LLl»ll.H       (lass  of  I 'JO',  \'M) 


CONTENTS 

John  Cuthbert  Stairs     Laiol9l3-U  143 

DlLLWYN  PaRRISH   Starr      Class  of  1908  145 

William  Stocks  Lacey     D.M.D.wis  155 

Norman  Prince     Class  of  1908  157 

Edward  Carter  Sortwell     Class  of  1911  166 

Edgar  Allen  Loav  Shortt     Class  of  1917  173 

Henry  Richard  Deighton  Simpson     Class  of  1918  178 

Howard  Burchard  Lines     LL.B.  1915  183 

Lord  Gorell  (Henry  Gorell  Barnes)  Laio  1903-04-  188 

Addison  Leech  Bliss     Class  of  1914  193 

Henry  Montgomery  Suckley     Class  of  1910  195 


MEMOIRS 


Ahy  young  heroes,  safe  in  immortal  youth  as  those  of  Homers 

you  at  least  carried  your  ideal  hence  untarnished.     It  is 

locked  for  you  beyond  moth  or  rust  in  the  treasure-chamber 

of  Death. 

James  Russell  Lowell 


(IKOlUiK    WILLIAMSON 


Class  ok   1 !)().") 


VTeorgp:  Wi  I.LI  a  .mson,  llic  first  <;ra(luatr  of  Ifarvard 
togi^■«'ll^s  life  in  the  war,  i>  >a](l  also  1o  lia\(>  hccii  the  fii'st 
graduate  ol  aii>  American  college  so  to  iiaxc  fallen,  lie  was 
lioiii  ill  London.  Scplcinhci'  '2(i.  l.S.S."».  the  son  of  ("liarles 
James  and  Martha  Lauretta  (Long)  \N  illiainson.  His 
mother  i>  now  La<ly  Skiinn-r,  the  w  ife  of  Sir  Thomas  Skin- 
ner, of  Montreal,  a  director  of  the  ( "anadian  Pacific  Hail- 
way.  The  hoy's  preparation  for  college  was  made  a!  St. 
Pauls  School.  (  Oiicoid.  New  llainpshirc.  His  college 
friends,  for  whom  a  classuuite  has  spoken,  recjill  him  as 
\iril<\  witty,  of  good  lialnts.  exceptionally  likecl,  ;iiid  l»ril- 
liant  ••nougli  to  iiiaint  am  a  good  academic  standing  wit  lion  t 
iiiuch  >tiirly.    The  nieic  fact   that  at   the  sophoiiiore  dinner 

3 


GEORGE   WILLIAMSON 

of  his  class  he  responded  to  the  toast  of  "The  Grind"  sug- 
gests that  he  was  not  too  hard  a  student:  after-dinner 
speeches  of  this  kind  are  generally  assigned  on  the  lucus  a 
non  lucendo  principle.  Williamson's  college  interests  are 
further  indicated  by  the  fact  that  he  was  a  member  of  the 
Institute  of  1770,  the  Polo,  Hasty  Pudding,  and  Fly  Clubs, 
and  the  editorial  staff  of  the  Harvard  Advocate.  In  the 
sketches  —  they  were  hardly  stories  —  which  he  contrib- 
uted to  that  journal,  the  English  background  of  the  young 
editor  provided  a  refreshing  bit  of  contrast  with  the  famil- 
iar stock-in-trade  of  our  college  journalism.  Read  even  to- 
day his  contributions  to  the  Advocate  have  qualities  both  of 
poise  and  of  liveliness  to  which  one  responds  with  genuine 
liking. 

Graduating  at  Harvard  in  1905,  Williamson  went  at 
once  to  England  where  he  matriculated  at  Oxford  Univer- 
sity, in  October,  as  a  member  of  Christ  Church.  While  at 
Oxford  he  joined  the  Duke  of  Wellington's  West  Riding 
Regiment,  of  which  he  was  a  lieutenant  in  the  Third  Re- 
serve Battalion.  He  became  a  student  of  the  Inner  Temple 
in  1906,  and  left  Oxford  at  Easter,  1907.  In  January,  1910, 
he  was  admitted  to  the  bar,  and  on  November  9,  1910, 
married  Hilda  Isabel  Gordon  of  Montreal,  where  he  en- 
tered upon  the  practice  of  his  profession.  WTien  the  war 
came,  four  years  later,  he  was  a  member  of  the  Montreal 
law  firm  of  Smith,  Markey,  Skinner,  Pugsley,  and  Hyde. 

Early  in  August  he  was  summoned  by  cable  to  join  his 
regiment,  and  proceeded  at  once  to  England.  The  first  bat- 
talion of  the  regiment  was  in  India;  the  second  had  already 
gone  to  France.  After  about  two  weeks  of  training  with  his 
own,  the  Third  Reserve  Battalion,  Williamson  left  England 

4 


GEORGE   WILLIAMSON 

for  the  front,  September  8.  The  retreat  from  Moiis  had 
ended,  and  the  Allies  had  resumed  the  offensive.  Of  what 
befell  him  from  that  tinu*  forth  there  is  no  occasion  to  re- 
sort to  other  words  than  those  of  a  private  letter  ^  which 
formed  the  basis  of  a  skotcli  of  Williamson's  military  ser- 
vice in  the  Harvard  Graduates'  Magazine  for  ]\Lir(lu  1!)1.5: 

George  went  tlirougli  tlio  battles  on  the  Aisno  and  on  the 
Marne,  and  wrote  several  very  cheery  letters  to  his  family  at  this 
time.  Officers  of  his  battalion  who  liave  since  come  home,  in- 
(•huiin<j:  his  captain,  bear  testimony  to  his  splendid  behavionr 
during  this  trying  time  when  they  were  constantly  under  shell- 
fire,  and  he  apjxirently  was  exactly  the  same  as  ever,  cracking 
jokes  and  eheering  his  men  by  his  bearing. 

When  the  regiment  arrived  on  the  present  lines,  (Jeorge,  ac- 
cording to  his  captain,  who  has  since  also  been  wounded  and 
come  home,  greatly  distinguished  himself  on  one  occasion  when 
the  trench  his  section  were  holding  was  attacked  by  the  bayonet, 
antl  George's  lot  succeeded  in  throwing  back  the  enemy  after 
desperate  hand-to-hand  fighting. 

On  Xoveml)er  8,  George's  company  advanced  in  the  early 
morning  to  relieve  the  defenders  of  a  certain  trench,  (ieorge's 
section  were  on  the  left  of  the  company  and  advanced  along  the 
outside  edge  of  a  wood.  The  enemy  had  worked  around  further 
to  the  left  and  o|X'ned  fire  with  machine  guns,  enfilading  (Jeorge's 
men.  These  latter  took  cover  in  the  wood  as  fast  as  they  could, 
ami  (ieorge  ujiglit  easily  have  saved  himself  Ity  doing  the  same. 
lnstea<i.  however,  he  stepped  out  of  the  wood  and  took  a  i^dod 
look  roiiml  to  make  certain  that  all  his  men  had  got  safely  to 
cover,  and  thereupon  was  liil  Ww  I  inics  all  <lo\\  n  the  left  side,  in- 
cluding one  in  the  lung.  Jlc  kept  going,  howexer,  long  enough  to 
get  his  men  .safely  into  the  trench,  and  Ihrn  actually  walked 
along  if  to  the  cciiln-  and  rcporlcij  liinisclt"  \\(iuiid<'d  lo  the 
•  apt  a  in. 

'   Written  l)...,iil,.i    17.  1!»IK  l.v  Kdwiinl  I5.H.  "Ot. 


GEORGE    WILLIAMSON 

He  had  to  sit  till  nightfall  in  the  trench,  and  then  was  moved 
seventeen  miles  in  a  motor  ambulance  to  a  hospital  [at  Pope- 
ringhe].  He  and  the  doctors  all  thought  he  would  recover  and  he 
wrote  on  the  10th  to  his  mother  giving  the  date  of  his  probable 
arrival  in  England,  and  making  light  of  his  wounds.  On  the  night 
of  the  11th  he  grew  rapidly  worse  and  died  early  the  following 
morning.    He  was  buried  nearby  and  his  grave  is  marked. 

His  wife,  and  their  one  child.  Hazel,  born  August  12, 
1911,  made  all  haste  to  reach  Europe  from  Montreal  when 
the  news  of  his  wounds  came  to  them  there,  but  were  still 
on  the  ocean  when  he  died. 


EDWARD   MAXDELL  STONE 

Class  of  1908 

JLhe  first  Harvard  man  to  die  in  the  war  was  completely 
f^nglisli;  the  second  was  completely  American.  He  was 
Pxlward  Mandell  Stone,  horn  January  5,  1888,  at  Chicago, 
III.,  the  third  son  of  Heni-y  lialdwiii  Stone,  of  the  Harvard 
(  la.v^  of  187'3,  and  l'>li/al)elli  Mandell  Stone,  both  natives 
of  Xew  Bedford.  Massachusetts.  Henry  Baldwin  Stone 
had  iiiacK-  for  liiiii><'lf  a  typically  Anici'ican  career:  on  o;rad- 
uation  he  hc^MU  \\(jrk  as  a  machini>l  in  a  Waltham  cotton 
mill:  then  he  went  WVst.  and  cntci-cd  the  slioj)s  of  the 
Chicago,  liurlington  and  (^uincy  Railroad  at  Aurora,  III.: 
in  a  feu  .\-cars  he  became  general  manager  of  the  Burling- 
ton system  and  xeeond  \  ice-presideiil  of  I  he  i-oa<l.  Later*  he 
wa>  made  |)i'e>ideiil  ol  I  he  (  hicag<»  relephone  (  (»m|)any 
and  of  t  w  (»  ot  her  c<»m|)aiiie>  re|)re>ent  ing  I  he  great  inti'rests 

7 


EDWARD   MANDELL   STONE 

of  the  Bell  Telephone  system  in  the  central  states,  a  posi- 
tion which  he  held  until  a  few  days  before  his  death.  This 
occurred,  July  5,  1897,  through  an  accident.  His  wife  died 
in  1907. 

Their  son,  Edward,  who  made  his  home  in  Milton,  with 
his  mother  until  her  death,  and  then  with  his  sister,  was 
prepared  for  college  at  Milton  Academy,  and  entered  Har- 
vard with  the  Class  of  1908.  He  completed  his  work  for  the 
A.B.  degree  in  1907,  and  during  his  senior  year  studied  in 
the  Law  School.  He  did  not  finish  his  studies  there,  but  in 
1909  served  in  the  Legation  at  Buenos  Aires  as  a  volunteer 
private  secretary  to  the  Hon.  Charles  H.  Sherrill,  United 
States  Minister  to  the  Argentine  Republic.  Returning  to 
this  country  he  entered  the  Graduate  School  of  Arts  and 
Sciences  in  January,  1910,  taking  courses  in  history  and 
political  science,  and  the  next  autumn  resumed  his  course 
in  the  Law  School.  His  graduate  work  showed  marked  in- 
telligence and  a  capability  which  would  have  carried  him 
far  had  he  taken  up  the  practice  of  the  law.  Of  the  man 
himself  Mr.  Sherrill,  speaking  of  his  first  interview  with 
Stone  upon  his  arrival  in  South  America,  has  written : 

He  was  excessively  modest,  frankly  avowing  that  he  had  no 
delusions  as  to  his  mental  equipment  for  making  a  great  success 
of  his  life,  but  in  that  interview  and  throughout  my  subsequent 
relations  with  him  there  always  appeared  an  unswerving  integ- 
rity of  purpose,  and  a  desire  to  be  helpful.  Those  are  the  traits 
which  seemed  most  to  mark  his  character,  and  those  are  the 
traits  which  later  led  him  to  make  his  life  more  useful  to  civiliza- 
tion than  our  lives  will  probably  be. 

This  first  Harvard  volunteer  to  die  for  France  bore  a  re- 
lation to  the  war  of  which  there  is  little  to  tell  beyond  a 

8 


EDWARD    MAXDELL    STONE 

record  of  liis  service.  Reserved  and  chary  of  expression,  he 
was  averse  equally  from  lotting'  himself  be  photooraphed 
and  from  writing  about  himself  in  his  infrequent  letters, 
lie  had  been  living  in  France  for  some  time  before  the  out- 
break of  the  war,  and  had  become  tleeply  interested  in  this 
country  and  fond  c»t'  its  pt'oj)lr.  ^^  hen  Germany  attacked 
France  in  August,  l!)14.  he  enlisted  at  once  as  a  private  in 
the  For(>ign  E(\<jfi()n,  '•2nd  Regiment.  Battalion  (\  In  Octo- 
ber he  was  sent  to  t  lie  trenches  at  the  front  witlia  machine- 
gun  section,  and  served  at  or  near  Craonne  until  wounded 
there  by  shrapnel  on  February  15,  1915.  He  was  taken  to 
the  Military  Hospital  at  Romilly.  where  he  died  of  his 
wounds  on  February  '27,  Wlo.  He  is  buried  in  the  ^Military 
Cemetery  of  Roim'lly.  His  family  have  felt  sure  that  his 
own  wi>h  would  have  been  to  lie  in  the  country  which  he 
loved  and  served. 

His  class  secretary  reports  of  him  that  when  he  received 
hi>  fatal  wound  a  surgeon  asked  if  he  wished  him  to  write 
to  anybody,  but  that  Stone  said  it  was  not  worth  while. 
"'I'hese  words  are,  in  a  way,  characteristic  of  the  man. 
What  he  did  he  did  well,  and  invariably  felt  that  no  partic- 
ular attention  should  be  ])aid  to  the  results  he  achieved, 
lb  \va>  an  essentiall.x  modest  person  who  took  life  as  he 
I'oiiiid  it.  and  contributed  to  cN'erything  he  look  jjart  in 
both  with  high  ideals  and  straightforward  work." 

The  ^nrgeon  of  the  Foreign  Ti(\gion  who  first  car(Ml  for 
liiin  at'fei-  hi>  wound  has  written: 

I  >aw  J-^ddic  ."^toiie  i"re(juenll_\'  duriii;;  the  six  luoiillis  we  were 
t()f,'etlier  in  "  Jidfalllnn  (\  Seme  Rnjimnd  dc  niarclw  <lu  Jcnir  Etnin- 
gere."  ile  was  always  on  tlic  job  and  in  ^ood  spirits:  lie  had  a  lot 
of  ^rit ,  )><)or  cliaj). 

!) 


EDWARD   MANDELL   STONE 

One  day  I  got  a  call  from  his  company  to  treat  a  wounded 
man.  It  was  Stone,  I  found,  with  a  hole  in  his  side  made  by  a 
shrapnel  ball,  which  had  probably  penetrated  his  left  lung. 
There  was  no  wound  of  exit,  so  the  ball,  or  piece  of  shell,  stayed 
in.  He  was  carried  back  by  my  squad  of  stretcher-bearers  from 
the  front  line  trench  —  the  "Blanc  Sahlon,'"  our  headquarters  — 
where  I  had  applied  the  first  dressing,  and  from  there  removed  to 
a  hospital  about  eight  miles  back.  I  did  not  see  him  again,  and 
heard  that  he  died  of  his  wound  in  this  hospital. 

He  had  friends  in  the  Legion  who  spoke  highly  of  him  to  me. 
There  was  very  little  help  we  regimental  doctors  could  give  the 
wounded,  I  am  sorry  to  say.  All  we  could  do  for  them  was  to  see 
that  they  were  carefully  moved  back  out  of  the  firing  zone  after  a 
first  dressing.  You  can  tell  his  people  that  he  always  did  his  duty 
as  a  soldier  and  died  like  one.    Of  this  I  am  sure. 


A\1)1{I^   CIll^HOXXET-CHAMrOLLION 


Class  of  IQO'i 


1  T  is  a  true  svinbol  of  the  diversity  of  tlie  Harvard  fellow- 
ship  and  of  th<'  foniinon  interests  of  England,  America,  and 
France  tiiat,  foll(^\vin<i:  an  En<;lishnian  and  an  American, 
tlir  tliird  IIar\-ard  jnan  to  fall  in  tlic  war  was  a  native  of 
France,  Andre  ("heronnet-Cliampollion,  l)orn  in  Paris,  Sep- 
tcnihcr '■2(),  ISHO.  In  ]!)(){•.  two  years  after  his  graduation 
at  Harvard,  he  became  an  American  citizen.  His  mother 
was  an  American,  a  daughter  of  the  late  Austin  Corhin, 
proidciit  of  the  Lcjug  I>hin(l  Railroad,  a  man  of  affairs 
wiiose  interot  in  nature  ('\|)rcssed  itself,  lliiough  (lie  later 
years  of  his  life  in  llic  niaiiilcniince  of  buffalo  and  ollici" 
AiiHiiciu  animals  in  his  fores!  and  game  preserve  al  New- 
|)oit .  N<'\\  Hampshiir.    Thi-,  AuHiican  grandfather  had  an 

II 


ANDRE   CHERONNET-CHAMPOLLION 

interesting  counterpart  in  Champollion's  French  great- 
grandfather, Jean  Frangois  ChampolHon,  "ChampolHon 
the  Younger,"  whose  deciphering  of  the  hieroglyphics  of 
the  Rosetta  stone  made  him  the  founder  of  modern  Egypt- 
ology. Before  his  death  in  1832,  handing  his  unpublished 
" Grammaire  Egyptienne"  to  his  older  brother,  also  a  dis- 
tinguished orientalist,  he  said,  "  Voild,  fespere,  ma  carte  de 
visile  a  la  posterite."  His  great-grandson,  as  the  first  Har- 
vard man  of  French  descent  to  die  in  the  war,  has 
strengthened  the  hold  of  his  name  upon  the  generations 
still  to  come. 

It  is  not  surprising  that  Andre  Cheronnet-Champollion's 
blended  inheritances  should  have  made  him  an  unusual 
person.  While  he  was  still  a  boy  in  France  his  father  died, 
and  several  years  later,  his  mother.  Thereupon,  at  the  age 
of  twelve,  he  came  to  America,  to  be  brought  up  by  his  ma- 
ternal grandparents.  From  their  home  in  New  York  he 
went  to  St.  Paul's  School,  Concord,  and  afterwards  to 
Harvard  College.  Here  he  made  a  creditable  record,  and  in 
his  senior  year  was  not  only  president  of  the  Cercle  Fran- 
gais  but  took  part  in  its  presentation  of  Racine's  "Les  Plaid- 
eurs."  He  was  a  member,  also,  of  the  Institute  of  1770, 
the  Hasty  Pudding,  and  Zeta  Psi.  It  was  after  college  that 
his  distinctive  tastes  and  characteristics  became  clearly 
manifest.  For  the  tenth  annual  report  of  his  class  he  wrote : 

After  leaving  college  I  took  a  trip  around  the  world,  stopping 
to  hunt  in  Alaska.  I  visited  Japan,  China,  the  Philippines,  the 
Malay  States,  Ceylon,  India,  Burma,  and  Egypt.  I  had  intended 
to  become  a  portrait  painter,  but  on  seeing  India  I  became  so  en- 
thusiastic about  that  country  that  I  decided  to  make  it  the  sub- 
ject of  future  paintings.   On  returning  I  studied  four  years  at  the 

12 


AXDRfi   CIIER()XXET-CHA^[P()LLIOX 

Art  Stiidonts*  Ix^agiie  in  Xew  York,  taking  another  trip  to  India 
in  the  fall  and  winter  of  1008-0!).  In  the  sprinj;  of  100!)  I  travelled 
tlirongh  Manehuria,  visitinu  the  scenes  of  the  Russo-Jai)anese 
war;  I  returned  by  way  of  Sil)eria  and  Russia.  In  the  fall  of  101'-2, 
after  three  years  more  of  study,  I  shall  return  to  Imlia  for  six 
months,  after  which  I  expect  to  begin  exhibiting.  Later  on  I 
hope  to  include  Mexico  and  old  Japan  as  snl)jects  for  paintings. 
I  am  a  great  admirer  of  the  Russian  painter  Verestchagin.  My 
favorite  recreation  is  big  game  hunting.  I  have  shot  grizzly  bears 
in  Alaska,  moose  and  deer  in  Xew  Brunswick,  caribou  and  black 
bear  in  X'ewfoundland,  besides  elk,  deer,  and  wild  bear  on  a 
private  game  preserve.  I  have  hunted  tigers  in  China,  but  with- 
out success. 

In  this  report  he  noted  that  he  had  contributed  an  article 
on  "Hunting  the  Alaskan  (Trizzly"  to  Forest  and  Stream. 
It  is  also  recorded  that  in  1!)()S  he  married  Adelaide  Strong 
Knox,  a  tlaugliler  of  the  late  John  Jay  Knox,  of  New  York, 
Comptroller  of  the  Currency  of  the  United  States.  Their 
only  son,  Rene,  was  born  in  1 !)()!). 

It  is  not  related  in  Champollion's  report  of  himself  that 
while  he  was  nuiking  his  trij)  round  the  world  the  Russo- 
Japane.se  War  began,  or  that  his  admiration  of  the  painter 
Verestchagin  was  joined  with  a  desire  to  become,  as  Cham- 
pollion's  friend,  Anton  Schefer,  has  expressed  it,  "a  painter 
of  the  same  type,  one  w  ho  should  depict  the  horrors  of  war- 
fare with  intense  reali.sm,  in  order  to  further  the  cause  of 
peace." 

AN  hen  the  war  bictkc  oul ,  (  lianipoilion.  w  ho  had  recently 
secured  his  final  relea.se  fi<»ni  all  military  obligation  in 
France,  was  living  in  Xew  port.  New  Ilami)shire.  He  saw 
iiiiiiie(liat<'ly  t hat ,  in  ^|til c  of  all  t  he  rights  and  inclinations 
which  made  for  his  remaining  in  Amciica.  his  i)lace  was  in 

i;5 


ANDRfi   CHERONNET-CHAMPOLLION 

France,  and  in  the  fight.  His  gravest  misgivings  were  on 
the  score  of  his  duty  to  his  wife  and  child.  His  wide  experi- 
ence of  hfe  in  the  open  had  given  him  one  excellent  qualifi- 
cation for  soldiering,  though  this  may  well  have  been  offset 
by  the  sensitiveness  to  suffering  and  ugliness  that  was  part 
of  his  endowment  as  an  artist.  Yet  none  of  these  consider- 
ations held  him,  and  before  the  middle  of  October,  1914,  he 
was  a  private  in  the  French  Army,  serving  at  Sens  ( Yonne) 
in  a  platoon  of  candidates  for  promotion. 

Here,  from  October  till  the  end  of  February,  1915,  he 
drilled  as  a  private,  hoping  to  be  made  an  interpreter  if  not 
to  win  a  commission,  receiving  neither  of  these  rewards, 
refusing  to  be  made  a  corporal  or  sergeant,  because  he 
valued  the  private's  leisure,  and  because,  as  he  wrote  in  a 
letter,  "to  be  a  successful  corporal  or  sergeant,  you  have  to 
get  into  the  habit  of  abusing  men  who  cannot  answer  back, 
and  that  is  contrary  to  all  my  principles  of  sportsmanship." 
It  was  a  period  of  much  discouragement  and  depression,  at 
one  time  almost  of  a  nervous  breakdown.  Mrs.  Champol- 
lion  came  from  America,  and  established  herself  in  an 
apartment  in  Sens,  where  her  husband  could  be  much  with 
her.  This  saved  the  day,  and  when  Champollion  went  to 
the  front  late  in  February,  still  a  private,  his  letters  re- 
vealed a  spirit  far  better  satisfied  than  it  had  been.  A 
friend  in  New  York,  Anton  Schefer,  of  the  class  after  his 
own  at  Harvard,  has  made  a  privately  printed  volume  of 
these  letters  to  friends —  ("Letters  from  Andre  Cheronnet- 
Champollion,  1914-1915")  —  a  poignant  and  distinctive 
memorial.  A  succession  of  passages,  taken  here  and  there 
from  its  pages,  will  permit  Champollion  to  speak  for  him- 
self: 

14 


AXDRE   CHfiROWET-CHAMPOLLIOX 

Sens,  October  I4, 1914-  It  looks  as  if  the  war  was  goin<i  to  last 
many  months.  ...  I  left  America  with  the  understandinji;  that 
I  should  be  back  there  in  time  for  Easter  Sunday,  but  it  looks 
now  as  if  I  should  have  to  wait  for  the  next  football  season. 

yoiember  1^.  Most  of  the  men  here  to  whom  I  have  related 
the  story  of  my  life  and  the  forces  that  drove  me  here,  evince 
statements  of  puzzled  curiosity  as  to  how  any  one  with  as  good 
excuses  as  mine  for  staying  away  could  voluntarily  have  plunged 
himself  into  an  ocean  of  trouble.  ...  I  feel  so  totally  out  of 
place  amid  such  surroundings,  for  the  other  men  are  most  of 
them  young  peasant  chaps,  that  I  have  terrible  moments  of 
doubt.  I  often  feel  like  a  fool  instead  of  like  an  honest  man  trying 
to  do  his  duty.  ...  I  often  wonder  if  I  will  ever  come  back  to 
see  Rene  grow  up,  to  be  his  first  guide  in  the  Park,  and  to  watch 
his  progress  through  St.  Paul's  School  and  Harvard.  When  I 
compare  my  attractive  Xew  Hampshire  home  to  the  terrible 
gloom  of  the  barracks  and  cantonments,  and  I  see  the  Park  in  all 
its  splendor  and  loveliness,  even  Xew  York,  which  I  used  to 
curse  at  a  good  deal,  now  seems  like  a  paradise  that  is  out  of 
reach.    Xever  has  America  seemed  so  beautiful. 

December  S.  Y<»u  cannot  help  wondering  now  and  then  what 
effect  such  a  stagnating  existence  is  going  to  have  on  your  mind, 
supi>osing  you  get  out  of  it  alive  and  unhurt.  Must  fifteen  years 
of  study  and  ten  years  of  hard  work  on  art  result  in  your  dying  at 
the  age  of  thirty-four  of  intellectual  dry  rot  ?  I  had  imagined 
war  more  j)ainful  physically,  but  not  nearly  so  morally.  ...  At 
all  events  I  still  i)ersist  in  the  belief  that  I  should  always  have 
had  a  most  uncomfortable  feeling  of  shame  and  of  duty  undone  if 
I  ha<i  remained  in  America. 

.htiiiKtrji  I7\  l'.il-'>.  Tlic  trouble  with  (he  whole  continent  of 
I-jirojx-  is  t  hat  tot  hem  I  he  word  "Sport  "  is  unknown.  To  them 
it  is  a  frivolous  wa.\'  of  spending  one's  time.  If  the  (Jermans  had 
})een  .sjxirtMiien  and  hail  not  taken  themselves  .so  infenuilly  seri- 
ouslv,  flie\-  would  ha\'e  been  incapable  of  the  atrocities  tlie\'  are 
acciis<-(|  (if.     Xo  sports|ii;in,   no  nation  of  sportsmen,   would  be 


ANDRE   CHERONNET-CHAMPOLLION 

capable  of  the  things  they  are  reported  to  have  done  as  reprisals 
for  very  small  offences.  The  Frenchman  either  takes  life  too 
seriously  or  too  frivolously.  He  is  either  a  grind  or  a  loafer  (a 
gentleman  of  leisure).  Who  ever  heard  of  a  member  of  the 
French  Academy  being  a  good  golfer,  or  of  a  French  bishop  play- 
ing a  good  game  of  tennis,  of  a  French  president  being  distin- 
guished in  any  branch  of  sport  !  And  this  spirit  permeates  the 
whole  military  system  of  this  country.  The  trouble  with  Europe 
is  that  there  is  not  enough  football,  tennis,  golf,  or  base-ball. 
This  sounds  very  frivolous,  but  it  is  a  sincere  conviction  now. 
The  whole  damned  continent  needs  new  life,  new  ideas,  new 
everything.  Let  all  those  who  are  Americans  thank  their  stars 
that  they  are  no  longer  members  of  the  morbid  European  na- 
tions. It  is  as  bad  for  nations  as  for  individuals  to  take  them- 
selves too  seriously  and  not  get  out  of  doors  and  play  ball  once  in 
a  while.  I  believe  if  they  had,  this  war  might  never  have  taken 
place. 

January  30.  I  frankly  confess  that  if  Adelaide  had  not  ar- 
rived I  would  have  broken  down  entirely.  Her  arrival  was  to  me 
like  a  life  preserver  to  a  drowning  man. 

Less  than  a  month  before  Champollion  was  ordered  to 
the  front  he  was  still  hoping  for  a  favorable  response  to  his 
application  for  appointment  as  an  interpreter.  "If  it  does 
not  succeed,"  he  wrote,  "I  shall  go  and  take  my  medicine 
like  the  rest,  I  suppose,  and  for  months  lead  the  life  of  a 
woodchuck  whose  hole  is  within  fifty  yards  of  the  house  of 
a  farmer  who  is  a  dead  shot  with  a  rifle! "  This  life  he  was 
destined  to  lead  for  less  than  a  month.  He  reached  the 
front  at  the  end  of  February.  On  March  1  he  wrote  a  vivid 
letter  in  which  he  said,  "I  have  indicated  by  a  star  every 
time  a  shell  passes  over  us  during  the  composition  of  this 
note.  If  I  punctuated  the  explosions  I  should  have  to  stop 
between  letters."  The  printed  page  shows  a  terribly  signifi- 

16 


AXDRE    CHEROXXET-CHAMPOLLION 

cant  sprinkling:  of  asterisks.  A  few  other  letters  followed 
—  courageous,  clear-sighted,  hlindingly  illuminating.  On 
^larch  '28,  lOlo,  the  end  came.  Lieutenant  Lucien  Cour- 
tois.  of  Cham])ollion\s  regiment  of  the  French  Army,  wrote 
of  it.  and  oi  him,  as  follows: 

I  quickly  learned  to  sympathize  with  liiiii,  Ijecause  I  saw  him 
to  he  rather  strange  in  surroundings  altogether  new  to  him,  and 
heeause  I  admired  deeply  the  heauty  of  his  action,  which  had 
made  him  forget  his  interests  and  affections,  to  come,  spontane- 
ously, to  France  in  danger.  Wc  often  talked  together.  I  saw  him 
accomplish  his  daily  duties  as  a  soldier  in  the  trenches  with  con- 
stant modesty,  good  humor,  sang-froid,  and  great  indifference  to 
danger,  and  this  sympathy  changed  soon  to  profound  friendship. 

He  was  struck  hy  a  hullet  in  the  forehead,  on  the  '■2'ird  of 
March,  when  the  Germans,  liaving  unexpectedly  exploded  a 
mine  in  one  of  our  trenches,  attempted  to  invade  our  lines.  To 
check  them  as  quickly  as  possihle,  our  company  was  making  a 
harricade  of  sacks  of  earth  to  fill  the  breach.  It  was  when  cooper- 
ating in  this  work,  with  his  habitual  courage  that  he  was  struck. 

Tic  was  buried  in  1  he  cemetery  of  Petan,  near  the  village 
of  Monlanville,  at  the  entrance  of  the  Bois-le-Pretre,  where 
lii--  reginu'ut.  the  HIHth  of  the  Line,  had  been  fighting  all 
winter.  He  was  awarded  the  Croix  de  Guerre  and  cited  for 
bravery  in  the  Army  order  of  the  day  for  July  15,  1917, 
reading  as  follow.s: 

1'2Hk  Dinision",  IOHk  Hi':(;imk\t  u'Imantkhie. 

OhDKK   DC    l{l':(ilMK\T   Xo.  1)0. 

Citation,  —  Le  bl.-( 'oloncl  (Ml.  \v  KiSc  Ke<,Mment  (I'lnfau- 
tcric  cite  a  I'Onh'e  (hi  Re^'iment  le  lira\i'  dont  le  noni  suit: 

(  lifToiuiet-C  hanipoUion,  Andre;  'i.  ehisse,  4  (■()nii)a;4nie. 

A  (jiiitte  les  Ktals-l'nis,  on  il  etait  elabli,  pour  venir  des  la  de- 
elaiat  ion  iU-  ;,nierre  picmlre  >a  place  sur  le  fnmt .  Soldat  eourag- 
eux  el  bra\f.     Ix-  'vi.'J  Mats,   I!)!.*,  an   lioisde-Pretre,  s'esl  oll'ert 


ANDRE    CHfiRONNET-CHAMPOLLION 

comme  volontaire  pour  reparer  sous  le  feu,  sa  tranchee  qui  venait 
d'etre  bouleversee  par  I'explosion  souterraine  d'un  fourneau  de 
mine  allemand.  A  ete  tue  d'une  balle  en  plein  front  au  moment 
ou  il  aecomplissait  sa  mission  avec  le  plus  absolu  mepris  du 

danger. 

Chepy, 
Le  Lt.-Col.,  Cdt.  le  168e  R.  I. 
Le  24  JmLLET  1917. 


HAROLD   MAKIOX-CRAWFORD 


Class  of  1911 


JLiiis  son  of  Frniicis  Marion  (Vawiord  and  Elizabeth 
(Bcrdan)  ("rawl'ord  was  horn  in  Sorrento,  Italy,  February 
1,  1888.  His  father,  the  well-known  novelist,  was  the  son 
of  i'lionias  Crawford,  the  seulptor,  whose  wife,  afterwards 
Mrs.  Terry,  a  sister  of  Mrs.  Julia  Ward  Howe,  was  a  famil- 
iar fi^'ure  in  Roman  society.  An  eighteenth  century  ances- 
tor, whose  name  I  lie  noxchst  horc,  was  General  Francis 
Marion,  the  "Swamp  Fo.\"  of  Revolutionary  fame.  The 
fathff  of  Mrs.  Francis  .Marion  (raw  ford  was  Ilirani 
Hcrdan,  colonel  of  the  first  rci^imcnl  of  I  he  United  Stales 
SharpNj|oot('|•-^  in  tlic  ('i\il  War.  hrcNctlcd  major-^euiM'al 
for  ln>  condnrl  at  ( let  lyshur^',  in\'cntor  of  a  rillc  and  ol  lici' 
<|c\icc>  of    military  and    na\al  warfare.      Ilai'old    Marion- 

l!t 


HAROLD  MARION -CRAWFORD 

Crawford  had  thus  a  strongly  marked  American  back- 
ground of  descent,  though  his  birth  in  Italy  and  his  prepa- 
ration for  college  under  a  tutor  in  England,  and  then,  for  a 
short  time,  in  Cambridge,  brought  him  to  Harvard  by  steps 
not  at  all  characteristic  of  the  American  boy.  His  career 
in  College,  which  he  entered  in  the  autumn  of  1907,  with 
the  Class  of  1911,  was  no  more  typical,  for  he  did  not  com- 
plete even  his  freshman  year.  Nor  was  his  next  recorded 
step  in  any  conventional  direction  since  it  bore  him  to  the 
Federated  Malay  States  in  the  employ  of  the  English 
rubber-planting  firm,  the  Luiggi  Plantations,  Ltd.  Here, 
by  1910,  he  was  a  sub-manager,  and  later  was  made  man- 
ager of  a  Division  of  the  Plantations.  In  1911  he  married, 
in  Singapore,  Nina  Noreen  Wood,  only  daughter  of  the 
late  C.  W.  W^ood,  Esq.,  R.  N.,  of  Dublin,  and  the  late 
Nina  de  Burgh  (Egan)  Wood.  In  1913  he  came  to  England, 
his  wife's  home,  for  a  year's  leave.  There,  on  January  17, 
1914,  their  only  son,  Howard  Francis  Marion-Crawford, 
was  born. 

He  had  planned  to  return  to  the  East  at  about  the 
middle  of  August,  and  would  have  done  so  but  for  the  dec- 
laration of  war.  Instead,  he  immediately  obtained  a  com- 
mission in  the  Irish  Guards,  which  he  held  for  nearly  six 
months.  He  was  then  made  Bomb  Officer  to  the  4th 
Guards  Brigade,  a  post  which  involved  the  constant  hand- 
ling of  explosives,  many  of  them  in  an  experimental  stage. 
A  few  bits  from  his  letters  from  the  front  reveal  the  condi- 
tions of  his  daily  life. 

January  7,  1915.  We  are  just  leaving  for  the  firing  line  again 
after  a  few  days  well  earned  rest.  Since  I  wrote  you,  we  had  a 
most  appalling  time  in  the  trenches;  what  with  the  water,  mud, 

20 


HAROLD    .M  A U ION -CRAWFORD 

and  fifrlitin^,  hell  coukl  never  compare  with  it.  Tt  is  hard  to  find 
any  news  from  here  witlumt  goin<j  into  details  which  one  is  not 
allowed  to  give,  but  it  is  all  so  vi\itlly  impressed  on  my  mind  that 
I  believe  I  can  tell  you  what  happened  day  by  day  when  I  get 
back.  I  am  very  well  and  stronger  than  anybody,  but  this  is  a 
very  depressing  country  and  I  can't  help  getting  depressed  some- 
times.   Wc  all  long  for  Home,  and  heartily  wish  it  were  all  over! 

January  2U  19h').  Wc  are  having  another  short  rest  which 
we  all  greatly  appreciate.  The  trenches  are  too  apj)alling  for 
words!  The  last  we  were  in  were  waist  deej)  in  running  water 
and  mud  I  Standing  in  this  sort  of  stuff  for  days  and  nights  on 
end  is  really  the  most  terrific  strain  on  one's  system  that  could 
possibly  be  inuigined.  The  extraordinary  thing  about  it  is  that  I 
am  as  fit  as  a  fiddle,  very  thin,  and  in  the  best  of  spirits.  This 
war,  I  am  sure,  is  the  most  wonderful  war  that  anyone  has  ever 
dreamt  of.  The  fighting  consists  of  sitting  in  a  trench  and  firing 
at  one  another  when  anybody  pops  up  his  head;  bar  this,  they 
shell  us  occasionally,  which  is  very  unpleasant  and  that  is  all. 
The  mud  and  water  arc  our  worst  enemies  and  quite  bad  enough, 
too. 

February  24,  1915.  I  have  been  in  every  second  of  the  fight- 
ing you  have  read  of  in  the  papers  lately.  INFy  C.  O.  recommended 
me  for  a  "  ribbon  and  a  bit  of  tin  of  sorts,"  but  if  I  get  anything 
or  not  remains  to  be  seen. 

Alter  this  (lut\"  he  came  home  from  France  on  lca\'o, 
Ai)ril  4,  1915,  and  returned  April  11.  On  April  1(1,  while  he 
was  giving  an  exi)lanatory  lecture  at  Givenchy  to  a  party 
from  the  ("oldstream  (Juard.s,  a  hand  grenade  exploded, 
killing  him  on  the  spot. 

Hi.s  colonel  testified  to  the  reality  of  his  loss  "both  as  an 
officer  and  a  comrade."  A  younger  })rotlier-offi(er  wrote 
uilli  more  intimacy  of  personal  knowledge:  "A  great  loss 
lo  t  lie  Iii>li  (iuar(i>,  bill  niucli  more  to  us  and  his  company 

21 


HAROLD   MARION-CRAWFORD 

who  knew  him  so  well.  Great-hearted  and  loved  by  all,  full 
of  life  and  confidence,  I  only  wish  he  was  with  us  instead  of 
lying  buried  behind  Givenchy,  his  grave  covered  with 
flowers  by  our  sergeants  who  did  their  best  to  show  how 
much  he  was  to  them." 


(  AL\i\  \vi:lli\(;t()x  day 

Graduate   School,   191:2-14 

1  N  1  lie  loii^f  roll  of  t  lie  H;ii\;ir(l  (lead  there  are  many  names 
wliicii  llar\ai(l  i>  |)r()ii(l  to  ^liare  with  other  inslitulions  ol' 
learning —  the  names  of  men  whose  connection  with  tlie 
T'in'versit.\'  lia^  hccii  thfon^ii  inciiii)erslii|)  in  the^faduate 
schooU.  \N  it  li  n(»  ahalcinenl  of  allegiance  to  an  earlier-  (iliita 
mater,  tiiese  men  hmi  in  Ilaixaid  a  second  mother  to  w  hom 


CALVIN   WELLINGTON   DAY 

they  often  bring  a  beautiful  devotion.  The  first  Harvard 
man  of  this  considerable  class  who  fell  in  the  war  against 
Germany  was  Calvin  Wellington  Day,  of  Kingston,  On- 
tario, a  student  in  the  Graduate  School  of  Arts  and  Sciences 
from  1912  to  1914. 

Born  of  LTnited  Empire  Loyalist  descent  in  Kingston, 
Ontario,  April  19,  1891,  the  son  of  Sidney  Wellington  Day 
and  Adelaide  Isabella  (W^aggoner)  Day  of  that  city,  Calvin 
Wellington  Day  had  his  schooling  at  the  public  schools  and 
Collegiate  Institute  of  Kingston  and  the  Collegiate  Insti- 
tute of  the  town  of  Cobourg  in  the  same  province.  He  then 
became  a  student  in  Queen's  University,  Kingston,  where 
he  received  the  degree  of  A.M.  in  1911,  with  first  class 
honors  in  the  phj^sics  and  mathematics  course  and  the  Uni- 
versity Medal  in  Physics.  In  1911-12  he  was  assistant  in 
physics  in  Queen's  University.  In  the  autumn  of  1912  he 
entered  the  Graduate  School  of  Arts  and  Sciences  at  Har- 
vard for  further  studies  in  physics,  and  for  the  year  1913- 
14  held  a  Whiting  Fellowship  and  served,  though  without 
formal  appointment,  as  a  research  assistant. 

The  diary  which  he  kept  through  his  final  weeks  at  Cam- 
bridge and  thenceforward  until  within  a  few  days  of  his 
death,  and  the  letters  to  his  familv  for  virtuallv  the  same 
period,  tell  the  story  of  his  connection  with  the  war  and 
picture  the  man  himself.  A  few  extracts  from  both  these 
sources  must  briefly  serve  the  same  double  purpose.  The 
first  of  the  Cambridge  entries  describes  his  passing  the  last 
of  his  preliminary  examinations  for  the  Ph.D.  degree: 

All  of  the  members  of  the  division  were  present  and  they  kept 
me  up  and  bombarded  me  with  questions  for  three  hours.  .  .  . 
When  I  came  out  I  was  nearly  "all  in,"  but  when  Professor  Hall 

S4 


CAT-VIN    WKI.LINCTOX    DAY 

(.aine  out  and  told  ine  that  1  had  passed  and  seemed  amused  at 
my  anxiety  I  revived  somewhat.  I  celebrated  by  going  to  bed 
early  that  night. 

The  following  i)ages  of  the  diary  touch  ui)on  ihv  June 
and  July  pleasures  of  Canihridgo.  and  the  progress  of  some 
work  Day  was  conii)leting  iu  the  Physical  Laboratory. 
There  were  good  times  at  tenuis  and  in  other  ways  with 
girls  of  Cambridge  and  the  Summer  School.  Class  Day 
came  and  went :  "I  did  n't  l)clieve  that  a  place  could  change 
so  cpiickly  as  did  Harvard  S(iuare  after  Class  Day.  The 
Yard  was  like  a  \ase  w  ith  th(>  flowers  r(Mnoved.  yc^t  beauti- 
ful withal."' 

Before  the  end  of  July  there  nrv  notes  about  the  political 
disturbance  of  Europe.  As  a  schoolboy  of  sixteen  at  Co- 
bourg.  Day  had  joined  the  Cobourg  (iarrison  Artillery,  and 
at  one  of  its  summer  camps  had  won  the  first  i)rize  for  gun- 
laying  and  rauge-Hnding.  In  1911  he  had  joined  the  Prin- 
cess of  Wales's  Own  Rifles  (14th  Regiment)  at  Kingston, 
and  receive(l  his  lieutenant's  commission,  April  3.  IDh^.  As 
^oou  a^  it  hjoked  as  if  Kngland  might  be  involved  in  the 
imix'uding  conflict.  Day  therefore  telegraphed  to  a  major 
of  his  regiment,  volunteering  in  case  of  need,  and  received 
a  |)r()ni|)1  reply  saying  that  his  message  had  been  forwarded 
to  Ottawa  with  recommendation.  A  piece  of  aj)paratus  he 
\\a>  in>talhiig  iu  the  laboratory  is  set  down  as  "a  beauty." 
and  then,  in  a  few  days.  (•()ine>  I  lie  new>  llial  England  had 
.>ent  an  nil  iiiiat  uni  to  Ceinian.x':  "so  packed  my  belongings 
(|uietly  and  went  out  to  diinier  at  Dr.  Trueblood's.  The 
next  morning  lAugu>t  .>|  I  >larle(|  for  home."  On  I  lie  (ilh 
he  wa^  ill  Kingston,  and  fi-oiii  Ilia  I  lime  forward  lliings 
nio\-e(i  ra|)i(lly. 

2.3 


CALVIN   WELLINGTON   DAY 

Day  and  his  fellow-soldiers  were  soon  transferred  from 
the  "Home  Guard"  to  the  "Overseas  Contingent,"  and  on 
the  22d  he  left  Kingston  for  the  camp  at  Valcartier,  Que- 
bec. Within  a  few  days  of  his  arrival  there  he  fell  in  with  a 
Harvard  sophomore  —  to  be  encountered  at  a  later  day 
still  more  strangely  —  and  wrote  in  his  journal:  "I  nearly 
collapsed  with  surprise  when  I  saw  Brokenshire  whom  I 
had  left  in  Cambridge  sitting  on  a  fence  at  midnight  when 
I  went  to  send  my  telegram  to  Major  Dawson.  He  was  in 
kilts"  —  having  joined  the  5th  Canadian  Royal  Highland- 
ers as  a  private.  At  Valcartier,  as  later  overseas.  Day 
found  all  possible  pleasure  in  human  contacts,  and  here  as 
there,  joined  heartily  in  the  hard  work  which  was  to  make 
his  military  unit  the  fighting  force  it  became.  The  diary 
records  all  this  process,  and  before  the  end  of  September  he 
is  found  embarked  in  the  ship  Cassandra,  one  of  a  fleet  of 
thirty-one  transports  guarded  by  six  cruisers  which  bore 
the  Second  Battalion  of  the  Canadian  Expeditionary  Force 
to  England,  actually  the  first  Canadian  soldiers  to  land 
there. 

On  Sunday,  October  11,  at  sea,  he  noted  with  equal  satis- 
faction "a  splendid  sermon"  and  the  fact  that  he  had  not 
heard  a  single  "patriotic  oration"  since  war  was  declared. 
He  wrote  besides: 

The  people  with  whom  I  have  come  in  contact,  particularly 
the  men  of  the  contingent,  have  gone  into  this  thing  coolly  and 
calmly  with  the  characteristic  British  attitude.  From  the 
thought  that  the  men  have  gone  into  this  undertaking  independ- 
ently, and  perhaps  more  or  less,  as  the  case  may  be,  actuated  by 
ideals  and  acting  on  principles  and  not  under  the  influence  of  a 
sentimental  hysteria  more  or  less  mild,  as  would  be  aroused  by 

26 


CALVIX   WELLINGTON   DAY 

an  emotional  outburst,  I  yet  considerable  satisfaction.  Few  men, 
if  any,  were  actuated  by  any  but  the  purest  motives,  and  were 
not  dragooned,  compelled,  or  blutied  into  this  thinj;,  and  in  beiny 
given  the  responsibility  and  opportunity  of  l)eing  a  very  junior 
officer  of  such  men  I  get  great  satisfaction. 

The  voyage  from  Gaspe  Bay  in  the  St.  Lawrence  to  Ply- 
mouth lasted  from  October  3  to  14.  The  beauty  of  Eug:- 
land,  the  might  of  the  Plymouth  fortifications,  the  pride  of 
being  in  the  first  colonial  contingent  to  arrive,  the  newness 
of  it  all  —  a  newness  of  1014,  expressed  in  such  a  sentence 
as  "Just  now  we  are  having  a  band  concert  and  the  band  is 
playing  the  popular  Tommy  Atkins  song,  'It  's  a  long  way 
to  Tipperary ' "  —  these  and  many  other  sharp  impressions 
find  their  record  in  diary  and  letters.  Drake  and  the  Ar- 
mada came  inevitably  to  mind.  After  the  Canadians  had 
disembarked  at  Devonj)ort,  in  Plymouth  harbor,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  Bustard  Camp  on  Salisbury  Plain  for  their  fur- 
ther period  of  training,  Day  wrote  to  his  family:  ''The 
boys  had  been  on  shipboard  closely  confined  for  twenty- 
four  day>.  and  the  'Second  Armada,'  as  the  Plymouth 
people  called  it,  was  so  unexpected  that  the  people  were 
very  entluisiastic  and  excited." 

The  actual  scene  is  thIl^  preserved  in  the  tliary: 

October  I'J.      liustard  ("anip.  Salisl)ury. 

I>a.st  niglit  at  !).1.5  we  fell  in  and  inarched  on  to  the  pier,  leav- 
ing (tur  Immhc  of  twenty-four  days.  As  modern  sea-voyages  go  it 
was  quite  loiii:  in  pninl  of  lime.  Wc  made  off  from  the  pier  at  10 
P.M.  and  iuar<-hed  through  the  narrow,  paved  streets  of  the  Navy 
^  ard  b<'tweeii  tlic  lowering  stone  walls.  The  tranij),  tramp, 
tramj)  sounded  even  aljove  the  singing.  When  we  struck  town  I 
undcrstooij  what  "^b■rry  England"  meant.  In  spile  of  the  late- 
ness of  I  lie  lionr,  the  >lre«'ts  u<'re  crowded  and  e\-ery  window  as 

27 


CALVIN    WELLINGTON   DAY 

we  passed  had  its  occupants.  The  old  women  and  the  young 
girls  crowded  into  the  road,  and  the  lucky  fellows  on  the  outer 
flanks  kissed  everyone  they  liked.  Mother,  father,  and  daughter 
would  be  standing  there  together,  and  a  soldier  would  stop  to 
shake  hands  with  the  old  people,  to  talk  to  them  and  kiss  the 
young  daughter,  and  the  parents  would  not  think  anything  of  it 
at  all.  There  was  laughing  and  singing  everywhere.  The  old 
ladies  kissed  the  boys  and  wished  them  a  safe  return,  and  our 
company,  thanks  to  my  watchful  care  perhaps,  was  more  orderly 
than  the  others.  We  did  n't  allow  any  girls  being  brought  into 
the  ranks,  nor  did  any  of  our  men  fall  out  of  the  ranks  and  walk 

along  the  street  with  girls  (except till  I  saw  him).    But 

apart  from  that  there  was  no  interference.  They  exchanged  sou- 
venirs and  everybody  was  happy  and  good-natured,  and  as  one 
very  nice-appearing  man  to  whom  I  was  speaking  said,  in  all  the' 
merriment  there  was  n't  an  objectionable  word  or  suggestion  to 
be  heard.     Merry  England! 

For  something  more  than  three  months  Day's  regiment 
imderwent  a  rigorous  training  on  Salisbury  Plain.  Yet 
there  were  intervals  of  relaxation,  and  England  could 
sometimes  be  found  still  at  play.  Once  when  Day  was  rid- 
ing alone  to  visit  a  flying  school  not  far  from  Bustard 
Camp  his  horse  balked  at  a  steam  tractor,  was  led  across  a 
bridge  over  the  Avon  —  "a  creek"  —  Day  called  it  in 
writing  home  —  "about  fifteen  yards  wide,"  when,  he 
proceeds : 

I  heard  a  hue  and  cry  behind  and  a  hare  darted  across  the  field 
by  the  road  with  about  a  hundred  hounds  and  a  dozen  red-coated 
squires  and  about  thirty  officers  in  khaki  in  pursuit.  The  Master 
dashed  by  me  with  a  whip  in  his  right  hand,  a  cigarette  between 
his  lips,  and  his  horn  and  the  reins  in  his  left  hand,  going  full 
gallop  —  but  still  as  if  he  were  stuck  to  the  saddle  —  and  his 
horse  scarcely  a  bit  wet.   My  horse  must  have  had  sporting  blood 

28 


CAT.VIX    WELMXCTOX    DAY 

away  hack,  for  hv  started  ott'  full  tilt  —  and  1  let  hiiii  gt).  I  am 
afraid  and  ashamed  tt)  say  that  I  stayed  perliaps  a  little  closer  to 
his  neck  than  most  jjood  riders  would,  hut  I  stayed  on.  Anyhow 
I  think  tlif\"  iHitieed  my  puttees  and  knew  that  1  was  only  an 
infantry  othcer. 

Another  particij)ati(»n  in  Kiiylisli  sj)orf.  wliile  Day  and  a 
friend  were  enjoying;  a  «i[linij)se  of  London,  has  its  anuising 
chronicle: 

In  tiie  afternoon  we  (Mac-  and  I)  went  to  Prince's  ("luh,  of 
which  we  are  honorary  meml)ers,  and  had  a  fine  time  skatin<;.  I 
never  saw  so  nuich  >i;ood  skating  at  one  time  hefore.  Mac  was 
Canadian  champion  figure  skater  for  two  years.  There's  always 
an  old  fogy  in  a  cluh.  We  were  going  a  little  fast  and  he  stoi)ped 
us  and  asked  if  we  were  Canadians,  etc.,  and  said  the  ice  was  like 
Europe,  and  was  all  full  of  little  Bclgiums,  and  that  they  did  n't 
\iolate  one  another's  neutrality.  We  caught  on  and  did  n't  need 
to  he  told  any  more.  We  had  crossed  his  little  "area."  After  a 
time  Mac  remarked  to  him  that  .some  others  were  waltzing  ahout 
anfl  infringing  a  hit,  and  the  old  gentleman  remarked,  "Yes,  hut 
they're  good  skaters."  Mac  was  dumfounded.  I  nearly  laughed 
out  loiid. 

lint  liic  young  Canadian  was  well  di.sposed  to  like  what 
he  found  in  England  "  Happy  Day  "  the  men  of  his  hat- 
talion  called  liiiii  and  at  the  same  time  to  I'cmemhcr  all 
that  lie  liad  left  acioss  the  Atlantic.  A  family  hirfhday 
.seemcci  ne\cr  to  pa>s  unnoticed.  On  Xoveml)er  14  it  was 
worth  \\\>  while  t<»  jot  down  in  his  diary  an  item,  |)rol)al)ly 
picked  ii|t  ill  an  English  ne\vs|)aper.  "IIar\ai"d  students 
"rotten  egg'  the  Eioii  of  Brunswick  "  a  statue  not  at 
t  liat  t  inie  ■^llieldcd  \>\  the  ( JermamC  Museum.  On  .January 
!  Ik-  \s  rote  home:  "  Heard  yesterday  t  hat  Hai'\  aid  I  iimme<| 
^  ale  .'Id    0  Ml  t  he  liew    ^  ale  liuw  I  oil   Xo\  eliihei-  'J'J.     Such  is 


CALVIN   WELLINGTON   DAY 

fame!"  His  keen  interest  in  everything  must  have  made 
him  the  soldier  that  stands  revealed  in  a  letter  written  at 
Bristol,  February  8,  1915,  when  on  the  very  point  of  em- 
barking for  the  continent : 

When  they  were  cutting  down  the  establishment  of  ofBcers  I 
was  a  little  nervous,  but  as  Curry  said,  "Eat,  drink,  and  be 
merry,  for  tomorrow  you  may  go  to  Tidworth."  When  the  sig- 
nalling office  was  cut  off  the  establishment,  as  such,  and  when  the 
Colonel  stopped  me  and  asked  me  if  I  would  take  charge  of  the 
signallers  in  addition  to  a  platoon  —  and  said,  "Now  will  you 
stand  by  me?  "  and  I  said  ,"Sure  Mike,"  or  words  to  that  effect, 
I  was  so  tickled  I  could  scarcely  stand  at  attention.  .  .  .  We 
have  absolutely  no  idea  when  or  where  we  are  going;  it  may  be 
India,  Egypt,  Bordeaux,  or  Le  Havre,  but  probably  the  latter. 
But  they  can't  make  me  mad  by  doing  things  that  way.  In  fact  I 
like  it. 

Eight  days  before  his  death  in  the  second  battle  of 
Ypres,  he  wrote  to  his  sister,  April  15,  1915:  "We're  going 

to  Y .    'They  can't  make  us  mad  that  way.'  We're  all 

sick  and  tired  of  this  inaction."  The  refusal  to  be  made 
"mad"  seems  to  have  been  a  matter  of  principle  with  him. 
The  rough  experiences  in  billets  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Armentieres  and  Lille,  and  later  in  Belgium  might  have 
shaken  such  a  philosophy  of  life,  but  in  his  diary  of  March 
25,  he  wrote:  "Am  beginning  to  like  this  game.  I  always 
have  a  happy  faculty  for  liking  things  as  they  are  and  wish- 
ing them  to  continue."  The  journal  may  speak  still  more 
fully  for  him : 

April  4-  Easter  Sunday.  Father's  Birthday.  Cold  and 
windy  with  a  sprinkling  of  rain  in  the  morning.  Church  parade 
at  10  A.M.  with  Holy  Communion,  It  was  a  very  impressive  ser- 
vice.   I  won't  forget  it  soon.    The  communion  rail  was  made  of 

30 


CALVIN   WELLINGTON   DAY 

scaling  ladtlers  Avliicli  the  engineers  had  devised  and  make  for 
getting  over  barbed  wire  entanglements  in  an  assanlt.  A  large 
number  of  the  men  took  connnunion,  considerably  over  100.  I 
took  the  communion  also.  The  last  time  was  in  Salisbury  Cathe- 
dral about  two  months  ago. 

April  IJf.  About  3  p.m.  I  got  a  wheel  from  lidcirs.,  and  started 
over  the  sticky  up-hill  road  to  Cassel.   It  is  eight  kik)metres,  but 
I  got  there  before  six.    The  road  winds  about  on  its  way  up  the 
hill,  and  as  one  rises  the  level  surrounding  country  unfolds  it.self 
like  a  ma]).    It  is  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  a  level  country  from  a 
height,  and  in  this  thickly  populated  and  highly  developed  coun- 
try it  is  a  very  striking  sight.    On  the  way  up  I  passed  an  auto 
coming  down  the  broad  level  pave,  and  in  it  was  General  Foch 
reading  his  daily  papers.    To  enter  the  town  one  has  to  pass 
through  an  old,  covered  gateway.   Inside  all  the  ground  is  paved. 
There  was  the  usual  square  with  the  usual  collection  of  motor 
transports.  The  town  is  old  and  quaint,  streets  at  different  levels 
and  twisting  about.    Some  very  venerable  looking  buildings.    I 
pushed  my  bike  up  to  the  highest  point  where  there  is  a  little 
park,  an  old  chateau,  and  a  wireless  station.    Here  I  was  agree- 
ably and  inten.sely  surprised.  The  only  other  soldier  up  there  was 
Brokenshire,  Harvard  '16.    I  had  n't  seen  him  since  we  left  Eng- 
land. It  was  very  strange  and  pleasing  to  me.  We  sat  in  one  of  the 
stone  bastions,  very  like  those  at  Fresh  Pond  in  Cambridge  which 
I  remember  so  well,  overlooking  the  level  plain  three  hundred 
feet  l>elow  with  its  great  straight  roads  losing  them.selves  like 
endless  white  ribbons  in  the  mist  and  gathering  darkness  —  the 
road  to  Dunkerque  and  the  sea  and  the  road  to  Ypres  and  the 
British  wedge,  from  which  direction  the  occasional  report  of  an 
extra  heavy  gun  was  heard  indistinctly.   Here  we  talked  of  Har- 
vani  and  ("aMibridge,  and  the  i)laces  and  the  girls  we  had  known. 
It  was  a  pleasing  and  imjiressive  sight  in  the  .setting  sun  and  a 
\('ry  i)l«';isant  cxiJCTicnc'c,  and  I  was  very  sorry  to  leave  it  to  him. 

'I'lic  letters  and  diary  continue  almost    to  the  time  of 
Day'.s  death.    On  Aj)ril  1!),  his  twenty-fourth  birthday,  he 


CALVIN   WELLINGTON   DAY 

writes  to  his  family  of  a  "bathing  parade"  at  a  pond  in  the 
grounds  of  an  Antwerp  merchant's  chateau:  "We  had  a 
dandy  swim  and  ran  about  the  grounds  and  summer  houses 
and  caves  and  bridges  in  our  bare  feet  Hke  a  company  of 
fairies.  I  had  a  gorgeous  time."  On  the  21st  he  wrote: 
"They're  playing  the  game  hard  up  here  just  now."  The 
men  were  billeted  in  barns  ready  to  move  at  short  notice, 
with  livelv  bombardments  verv  close  at  hand.  "It  is  mv 
turn,"  the  letter  ended,  "as  company  orderly  officer  today 
and  it  is  tea-time,  so  I  will  have  to  close." 

The  short  letter  of  the  next  day,  April  "2*2,  ended  with 
these  words: 

Just  now  they  are  "going  right  to  it.''  There  is  a  horse  waiting 
for  me  outside  and  I  am  going  where  I  can  see  more  of  the  row.  I 
am  enclosing  a  handkerchief  for  Mother  and  some  lace  for  Mabel 
[his  sister].  I  got  them  down  in  the  village,  saw  them  making  the 
lace. 

This  letter  he  never  posted.  It  was  found,  July  8,  1915, 
amongst  some  old  papers  by  a  fellow  officer  and  forwarded 
to  the  address  of  "The  Day  Family"  in  Kingston.  On  the 
very  day  after  it  was  written,  April  '23,  he  was  killed  in 
action  near  St.  Julien,  at  the  Battle  of  Langemarck  in  Bel- 
gium in  the  Second  Battle  of  Ypres.  This  battle  was  in- 
famous in  history  for  the  first  use  of  asphyxiating  gas  by 
the  German  Army,  and  memorable  for  the  valor  of  the 
Canadian  troops  of  which  Lieutenant  Day  was  so  typical 
an  officer. 


CAKLTOX   TIIAYKU    BRODRICK 


Class  of  1908 


JjUODHK  K  was  Olio  of  11k'  five  Harvard  nionwho  lost  their 
lives  in  llic  >inki!ifj  of  tlic  Lu.sitania.  Tiu'  other  four  were 
Richard  liicii  Freeman.  ,ir..  '(II).  Edwin  Wilhain  Friend. 
'OH.  Fll)ert  IIuhl)ar(l.  "!»7.  and  Herbert  Stuart  Stone,  '})4. 
All  these  may  he  >aid  to  liave  met  tiieir  (h'atlis  in  tiie  war 
against  (lermaiiy;  Kiit  Hiodriek  was  the  only  one  of  them 
so  identified  with  the  \vai-  lin'ough  his  own  activities  tliat 
this  series  of  memoirs  nmst  inchide  one  of  him.  His  name 
stands  fir.>t  on  the  hsi  ol  the  more  than  twenty  Har\'ard 
men  who  died  (hiring  the  course  of  the  war,  while  asso- 
ejatcd  w  it  li  (iiic  (»f  I  he  great  auxihary  ser\ices.  Histith-to 
llii-~  place  i»  found  in  tin-  woi'k  he  did  under  Mr.  Ilerhert 


CARLTON   THAYER   BRODRICK 

C.  Hoover  in  London,  early  in  the  war,  for  the  Commission 
for  Relief  in  Belgium. 

Carlton  Thayer  Brodrick  was  born  in  Dorchester  (Bos- 
ton), Massachusetts,  January  22,  1887,  the  son  of  Alfred 
Herbert  Brodrick  and  Etta  Louise  (Redding)  Brodrick. 
His  boyhood  was  passed  in  Dorchester  and  in  Newton, 
where  he  was  a  pupil  first  of  the  Hyde  Grammar  School 
and  then  of  the  Newton  High  School.    Graduating  there 
with  high  standing  in  1904,  he  entered  the  Class  of  1908  at 
Harvard  College.   His  natural  bent  and  abilities  expressed 
themselves  in  the  high  standing  he  took  in  chemistry, 
mathematics,  and  geology.    In  his  junior  year  he  won  a 
"Detur,"  and  as  a  senior  held  a  John  Harvard  Scholarship, 
a  coveted  honorary  reward  for  the  best  academic  work. 
His  tastes  and  loyalties  in  College  were  suggested  by  his 
membership  in  the  St.  Paul's  Society,  the  Sigma  Alpha 
Epsilon,  the  Mining,  Track  and  Field,  and  Chess  Clubs. 
After  graduating  cum  laude,  he  took  up  the  higher  study  of 
mining,  metallurgy,  geology,  and  engineering  in  the  Grad- 
uate School,  and  although  he  left  the  University  before 
completing  the  work  he  had  planned,  received  the  degree 
of  A.M.  in  1910  with  highest  honors  in  geology. 

Professor  John  E.  Wolff  has  written  of  Brodrick  at  this 
time  as  "a  very  earnest,  intelligent  and  enterprising  stu- 
dent," and  has  added:  "I  call  him  enterprising  because 
after  taking  the  summer  school  of  geology  in  Montana  he 
spent  part  of  another  summer,  alone  or  with  a  packer,  in  a 
rather  remote  part  of  the  British  Columbia  mountains, 
working  out  the  geology  of  a  little  known  district,  and  this 
took  a  certain  amount  of  courage  and  determination  and 
initiative,  unusual  in  one  so  young." 

34 


CARLTOX  THAYER  URODRK  K 

From  the  angle  of  a  couteinporary,  his  dassinate  and 
friend,  Harold  O.  Welhnan,  wrote  in  the  Xewton  Graphic 
of  May -^S,  191  (J: 

Throughout  his  college  eourse  Brodriek  showed  a  lively  inter- 
est in  niiiiing  geology,  and  during  his  summer  vacations  made 
many  trips,  both  for  the  College  and  on  his  own  account,  to  the 
Rocky  Mountain  regions,  British  C\)luml)ia,  and  other  points  in 
the  Northwest. 

His  professors  who  guided  his  work  even  now  speak  of  the 
energy  and  enthusiasm  he  manifested  in  making  these  re- 
searches, and  of  his  constant  interest  in  applying  and  working 
out  in  the  field  at  every  opportunity  the  theories  studied  in  the 
classroom.  Extraordinary  facility  in  languages  enabled  Brodriek 
during  these  years  to  continue  his  engineering  studies  in  the 
works  of  Russian,  Swedish,  and  Italian  authorities,  as  well  as 
French  and  German,  until  in  1910,  when  he  left  his  college 
courses  to  accept  an  appointment  in  the  United  States  Geologi- 
cal Survey,  he  had  a  knowledge  and  grasp  of  his  subject  remark- 
ably wide  for  a  man  of  his  years. 

His  work  in  the  Government  service  at  Washington  early  at- 
tracted the  attention  of  Sidney  H.  Ball,  the  well-known  mining 
engineer,  who  took  Brodriek  with  him  in  the  fall  of  that  year  to 
the  Atbasar  district  in  southwestern  Sil)eria.  There  they  re- 
mained six  months,  engaged  in  geological  studies,  particularly  of 
cop]K'r  occurrences,  in  which  Brodrick's  work  proved  so  sound 
that  he  was  engaged  the  next  year  as  iiiiiiiiig  geologist  by  the 
Russo-Asiatic  Compaii\-,  controlling  large  mining  interests  in  the 
Jvyslitim  district  of  the  Ural  Mountain  region. 

At  that  time  the  Russo-Asiatic  Company  was  just  at  the  be- 
ginning of  its  enormous  development,  and  soon  Brodriek,  who 
wa.s  then  only  in  his  lucnly-foiirth  .\('ar,  was  being  sent  all  over 
Russia  and  Siberia  to  inx'cstigatc  new  properties  and  report  on 
their  mining  i)ossibihties,  a  work  which  riMpiired  the  exercise,  not 
onl_\-  of  expert  knowledge,  but  also  of  sound  and  Far-seeing  judg- 
ment. 


CARLTON   THAYER   BRODRICK 

Signal  success  in  this  work  led  to  further  promotion,  and  in 
less  than  two  years,  Brodrick  was  advanced  to  the  post  of  con- 
sulting geologist  to  the  Russo-Asiatic  Company.  In  this  capac- 
ity he  examined  and  reported  upon  a  considerable  number  of 
important  Russian  and  Siberian  mining  properties,  of  w^hich  the 
following  have  since  become  of  notable  interest:  Tanalyk,  Verkh, 
Issetsk,  Miass,  Sissert,  and  Revda.  His  latest  work  was  an  ex- 
amination of  the  wonderful  Ridder  mining  properties  in  western 
Siberia,  which  are  generally  regarded  by  mining  experts  as  one  of 
the  four  or  five  great  mining  developments  of  the  decade. 

To  an  engineer  as  young  as  Brodrick,  it  was  no  slight  recogni- 
tion of  his  judgment  and  ability  on  the  part  of  the  company  that 
he  should  have  been  given  the  opportunity  of  being  closelj^  iden- 
tified with  the  early  development  of  a  mining  proposition  of  such 
magnitude  and  importance. 

During  these  few  years  of  rapid  advancement  and  widening 
experience  in  his  profession,  Brodrick  never  lost  active  interest 
in  his  Alma  Mater,  and  he  made  a  practice  of  devoting  a  major 
part  of  the  vacations  spent  in  this  country  to  the  service  of  the 
Geological  Museum  of  Harvard  University.  There  he  brought 
together  specimens  from  foreign  districts  he  had  examined,  and 
formed  a  large  and  valuable  collection  of  Russian  and  Siberian 
ores,  supplemented  by  an  unusually  complete  fund  of  informa- 
tion gathered  by  him  as  to  their  occurrence  in  the  field. 

What  all  this  meant  to  one  of  Brodrick's  former  teach- 
ers, the  following  words  of  Professor  Wolff's  will  suggest: 

As  a  young  man  active  and  successful  in  his  profession  as  min- 
ing geologist  he  impressed  me  as  thoroughly  competent  for  the 
work  he  w^as  doing,  loyal  to  the  interests  he  served,  with  a  re- 
freshing joy  and  whole-heartedness  in  his  work.  In  his  occa- 
sional visits  home  on  leave  from  the  great  mining  company  in 
Siberia  by  which  he  was  employed,  he  always  visited  the  College 
and  greeted  his  old  associates  and  friends  with  unfailing  friend- 
ship; he  usually  brought  some  interesting  mineral  specimens 

36 


CARLTON    TIIAYKU    HRODRirK 

from  Siberia  and  in  other  ways  showed  his  attachnieiil  to  tlic  in- 
stitution. He  always  made  me  a  visit  and  it  was  a  joy  to  talk 
with  him,  he  was  so  full  of  delight  in  what  he  was  doing,  so  haj)})y 
with  life,  with  i,dimi)ses  of  deep  devotion  to  his  family  and 
friends:  he  was  high-minded  and  clean.  He  was  physieally  tall 
and  active,  no  superfluous  flesh,  long-limhed. 

It  happened  that  Mr.  IlerlxMf  C.  TToover  wa.s  con.sultin^ 
engineer  of  the  Uu.s.sian  mining  c'oni])anies  for  which  Brod- 
ric-k  was  working  when  the  war  broke  out.  On  his  way  to 
America  for  his  annual  vacation  he  .stopped  in  London,  in 
January  and  February.  1J)L).  and  joined  the  force  of  Bel- 
gian Uclii'f  workers  under  Mr.  Hoover  tiicrc.  Thence  he 
proceeded  to  Boston  where  he  s])en1  two  hapj^y  months 
with  his  family  and  friends.  One  of  those  who  saw  him  at 
this  time  was  Dr.  1).  W.  Abercrombie  of  the  Harvard  Cla.ss 
of  187(),  then  principal  of  the  Worcester  Academy.  On  the 
sinking  of  the  Lusiianin  he  wrote  to  B  rod  rick's  father, 
whom  he  had  never  .seen,  telling  how  he  and  the  younger 
man.  while  still  an  undergraduate,  had  met  in  the  White 
Mountains,  and  >U()W-shoed  together: 

Carlton  [he  went  on]  greatly  interested  me  by  liis  ingenuous- 
nes.s  of  mind  and  lovable  spirit,  and  deej)  interest  in  things  that 
were  worth  while.  I  felt  \ery  afleetionately  towards  him.  and 
called  him  onr  d.iy  my  "  pa|)oose  "  beeau.se  of  his  long.  loi)ing 
stride  as  we  walkecl  oxer  the  enniehing  snow.  Vi)r  many  years 
he  wrote  me.  ;itid  once  he  \isite(|  nie.  I  fried  lo  keep  informed  in 
regard  !•>  his  growing  capacity,  lor  I  was  sure  he  was  going  to 
make  ,1  name  for  himself  in  the  world.  ^Vilhin  less  than  fonr 
weeks  of  his  sailing,  I  think  it  was,  I  met  him  in  Moston  as  he  was 
taking  a  train  for  ('ornell,  and  he  and  I  were  seat-mates  as  far  as 
Worcester.  lie  to|r|  mc  of  \\\-^  later  experiences  in  Russia,  and  of 
his  intended  relnrn  on  the  \\v-^\  of  Ma_\-  on  llie  l.iisitiniid.    When 


CARLTON  THAYER  BRODRICK 

that  great  ship  went  down  by  the  dastardly  act  of  the  German 
government  I  thought  instantly  of  Carlton,  and  looked  with 
great  anxiety  on  the  lists  of  those  saved  and  of  those  lost,  and  to 
my  horror  and  sorrow,  and  grief  that  will  never  leave  me,  I  saw 
that  that  splendid  fellow  had  been  lost.  .  .  . 

I  can  only  tell  you  that  I  am  one  of  those  many  men  who  loved 
Carlton  and  who  foresaw  for  him  a  great  career,  and  that  I 
grieve  not  as  you  do  but  as  a  friend  may  for  your  son's  early  and 
terrible  loss.  I  shall  always  carry  in  memory  the  picture  of  his 
manly  face  and  superb  form.  I  was  immensely  pleased  with  his 
growth  in  maturity,  with  that  world  view-point  which  he  had 
already  won,  and  with  the  solid  purpose  of  his  mind. 

Brodrick's  travelling  companion  on  the  Lusitania, 
Richard  Rich  Freeman,  Jr.,  '09,  was  going  with  him  to 
Russia  to  join  in  the  mining  engineering  to  which  he  him- 
self was  returning  via  London,  where  he  w^ould  doubtless 
have  applied  himself  again  to  the  work  of  Belgian  Relief. 
With  the  doomed  ship  his  personal  papers,  with  records  of 
his  professional  work,  went  down.  His  body  was  rescued 
and  brought  home  for  burial.  It  is  chiefly  from  such  ex- 
pressions by  Dr.  Abercrombie  and  the  following  message  of 
sympathy  from  Mr.  Hoover  that  the  quality  of  the  man 
and  his  work  must  be  inferred: 

Please  accept  from  the  Executive  Committee  of  the  Commis- 
sion for  relief  in  Belgium  our  heartfelt  sympathy.  Early  in  the 
year  your  son  unselfishly  devoted  his  time  and  energies  to  this 
work  and  won  the  regard  of  all  who  became  associated  with  him. 
Rest  assured  that  many  friends  are  prepared  to  do  everything 
necessary.  Scott  Turner,  who  survived,  was  with  him  several 
hours  after  the  ship  sunk  and  last  saw  him  supported  by  two  oars 
and  with  every  possibility  of  being  rescued.  He  was  probably 
the  last  passenger  to  leave  the  ship  and  was  brave  and  cheerful 
throughout.  Hoover,  Chairman. 

38 


CARLTOX  THAYER  RRODRK  K 

From  distant  IVtro^n-ad  a  t't'w  inoiitlis  later  came  this 
letter  speaking  for  the  impression  wln'eh  Brodrick's  per- 
sonahty  and  hd)ors  liad  ])roduced  in  Rnssia;  it  was  written 
by  a  i)rofessional  and  hnsiness  associate,  Mr.  J.  V.  B, 
Webster: 

I  write  voii  iu»t  onlv  on  niv  own  l)ohalt',  hut  also  at  tlio  retiuest 
of  the  Russian  directors  and  employees  of  the  Kyshtim,  Irtysh, 
Tanalyk  and  Russo-Asiatic  Companies  to  express  our  very  deep 
sympathy  with  you  iu  the  loss  of  your  son. 

Mrs.  Wel)ster  lias  already  written  you  of  the  close  friendship 
between  vour  .son  and  our  familv,  which  we  so  much  valued;  this 
was  in  private  life,  and  also  in  business  his  great  ability,  com- 
l)ined  with  unfailing  courtesy  and  kind  actions,  cau.sed  him  to  be 
held  in  the  highest  esteem  by  a  very  large  circle  of  Russian 
friends.  His  important  and  succe.s.sful  work  at  Kyshtim  did  not 
prevent  him  giving  individual  attention  and  kindly  aid  to  his 
assistants,  as  a  result  of  which,  the  Kyshtim  Geological  Depart- 
ment, founded  by  him,  is  now  looked  on  as  the  finest  practical 
school  in  Russia,  men  therefrom  being  eagerly  sought  to  fill  im- 
portant geological  po.sts  throughout  the  Empire;  every  man  who 
pa.s.sed  through  tliis  Ky.shtim  .school  during  the  i)eriod  when  your 
son  was  in  <harge  was  proud  to  acknowledge  the  feelings  of  per- 
sonal fritMidshij). 

I  have  ju>t  returned  to  I'etrograd  from  an  extended  visit  to 
Kyshtim.  'ianalyk  and  the  surrounding  country;  everywhere  the 
dcejx'^t  horror  i>  fell  at  the  dastardlN'  act  w  hich  cost  your  son  his 
life,  and  1  was  asked  to  express  to  you  the  sincerest  sympathies  of 
a  very  large  circle  of  Ru.ssian  friends  and  admirers  of  your  son. 

\\(-  ha\-e  lost  a  true  friend  and  Russia  has  lost  the  most  hril- 
liaiit  geologist  of  recent   times. 

On  the  fiI•"^t  anni\'eivsai"y  of  the  sinking  of  the  LiistUiiiiiK 
^lay  7.  I!)|(I,  i*r(tfc>>or  Josiali  Royce  (|eh\ cicil  a  nicniora- 
ble  address.    A  portion  of  it   consiNlcd  of  a   Idler  fioin  a 


CARLTON   THAYER   BRODRICK 

friend  describing  the  course  of  Brodrick  and  others,  all  un- 
named, in  sailing  on  the  Lusitania  to  fulfil  professional  en- 
gagements. Royce's  words  on  this  matter  may  well  stand 
as  the  final  words  about  Carlton  Brodrick : 

Benjamin  Franklin  says,  "They  that  can  give  up  essential 
liberty  to  obtain  a  little  temporary  safety,  deserve  neither  liberty 
nor  safety."  My  friend,  intuitively  enlightened  by  sorrow,  said 
something  deeper  than  the  words  of  Franklin.  Our  liberties  are 
dear  to  us  and  ought  to  be  so.  Our  young  professional  men 
should  be  trained  to  be  prepared  for  dangerous  undertakings  and 
dutifully  to  keep  their  promises  when  once  these  are  made. 
Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  said  the  well-known  word  about  the  con- 
ditions under  which  "  'Tis  man's  perdition  to  be  safe."  Such  con- 
ditions are  realized  when  men  make  professional  engagements. 
Some  of  the  young  men  who  went  down  on  the  Lusitania  were  in 
this  position.  They  met  the  requirements  defined  by  Franklin's 
word  and  by  Emerson's  line  about  the  safety  that  is  perdition. 
We  can  speak  of  them  as  vindicating  American  rights,  and  rever- 
ence them  for  their  part  in  doing  American  duties.  They  are  the 
men  whom  we  want.  Since  they  met  death  in  such  a  task,  we 
honor  their  memory  not  merely  as  a  matter  of  personal  grief,  but 
as  an  act  of  reverence  and  piety.  Blessed  are  they :  "Their  works 
do  follow  them." 


IIAl^RY   (.rSTAV   BYNG 


Class  of   1!)1.'J 


X HOUGH  the  college  affiliations  of  Harry  Custav  Byn^ 
were  witli  the  ('hiss  of  1!)1.'{.  tlie  I  niversity  ('atah)^iie 
shows  liini  to  haxc  hccii  rated  in  the  first  of  his  two  years 
at  Harxard.  IJMO  11.  as  an  imelassified,  in  tlie  second, 
1!)11  I'i.  as  a  spcfial,  stiident.  These  definitions  ai-c  ap- 
plied to  men  who  do  not  enter  (  Olle^e  l)y  the  re^ulai*  a\- 
enues.  and  are  not  at  least  not  \et — candidates  for 
decrees  in  tlir  re^nilar  e<»iii>>e.  Tliere  was  e\'ery  I'eason  for 
Byn^  to  stand  in  preei-^ely  !lii>  relation  willi  ilarxard. 

lie  was  an  Mii^disliiiia ii.  l)oiii  in  London,  Jidy  I'i,  ISS!), 
tlie  third  >oiM»f  (iustax  and  Ida  Hyn^-  His  school  was  Har- 
row, where  he  Was  captain  of  the  ei^'ht.  and  head  oi  his 
house.    His  father  was  the  fonnder  of  the  (ienei'al  MIeetric 

41 


HARRY   GUSTAV   BYNG 

Company  in  England,  and  it  was  to  prepare  himself  for  a 
position  in  this  great  organization  that  he  came  to  America. 

A  classmate,  Oliver  Wolcott,  wrote  of  him  in  the  Har- 
vard Graduates'  Magazine  of  September,  1915:  "When  he 
decided  to  come  to  Harvard  he  had  literally  not  an  ac- 
quaintance in  the  United  States,  but  the  charm  of  his  per- 
sonality and  the  fineness  of  his  character  quickly  brought 
him  not  acquaintances  but  friends."  If  he  had  entered 
College  with  a  swarm  of  friends  and  remained  there  four 
years  he  could  hardly  have  taken  a  more  definite  place 
among  his  fellows;  for  besides  becoming  a  member  of  the 
Institute  of  1770,  D.  K.  E.,  Stylus,  Signet,  Hasty  Pudding, 
Iroquois,  and  Fly  Clubs,  he  played  in  both  of  his  two  years 
on  the  "Soccer"  football  team,  of  which  he  was  an  ad- 
mirable captain  in  the  second  year,  and  served  on  the  edi- 
torial board  of  the  Advocate.  His  contributions,  in  articles 
and  fiction,  to  that  journal  were  English  and  Scottish  in 
background,  and  revealed  a  maturity  of  thought  and  sure- 
ness  of  touch  which  seem  a  more  characteristic  product  of 
E^nglish  than  of  American  schooling. 

At  Harvard  his  special  study  was  electrical  engineering; 
for  a  year  after  leaving  College  he  was  employed  at  the 
Schenectady  works  of  the  General  Electric  Company. 
Thus  prepared  for  the  position  awaiting  him  at  home  he 
returned  to  England,  and  was  in  the  engineering  depart- 
ment of  the  General  Electric  Company  there  when  the  war 
broke  out. 

He  enlisted  at  once  as  a  private  in  a  regiment  made  up  of 
university  men,  the  28th  City  of  London,  known  as  the 
"Artists'  Rifles,"  and  went  to  the  front  in  October,  1914, 
serving  as  a  scout.    In  the  following  March  he  wrote  to 

42. 


HARRY    (^rSTAV    RVXC. 

Professor  Copelaiul  tliat  \\v  \va>  ,m)iii^f  to  take  a  coiiiinis- 
sion:  "Life  is  iiuicli  more  simple  and  j)leasaiit  as  a  private 
amongst  friends:  l)ut  tliey  need  officers  who  have  had  a 
certain  amount  of  experience,  so  tliere  is  no  helj)  for  it." 
In  the  same  letter  he  wrote:  "At  first  yon  worry  alioiil  the 
huidin«;  phices  of  the  shells.  i)nt  there  are  so  many  differi'iit 
noises  that,  not  bein^i:  able  to  keej)  track  of  them  all.  it  is 
simpler  to  i^more  them.  'Ver  never  'ears  the  bullet  wot 
cops  yer'  is  the  Tommies'  j)hilosophy  -  and  is  the  best 
one." 

In  Alarch,  l!)lo,  he  was  gazetted  "-id  lieutenant  in  the 
King's  Own  Scottisli  Borderers,  known  as  the  Border  Regi- 
ment. Later  in  this  month,  during  a  four  days'  leave,  he 
was  married  in  London.  ^Lireh  'i'-Z,  to  Miss  Evelyn  Curtis, 
of  Boston,  a  daughter  of  Allen  Curtis,  of  the  Harvard 
Class  of  1884. 

Returning  immediately  to  the  fnmt  he  took  up  with  zest 
the  officer's  life,  of  which  less  than  two  months  nMuained  to 
him.  His  letters  and  diary  show  him  playing,  and  enjoying 
socc-er,  taking  a  hearty  pleasure  in  meeting  friends  from  the 
"Artists,"  keenly  interested  in  the  men  of  his  command. 
An  undercurrent  of  serious  thinking  expresses  itself  from 
time  to  time.  "'I'he  Parson  was  fifteen  un'nute>  late"  — 
he  wrote  one  day  about  (  linich  Parade  "and  altogether 
the.ser\ice  was  a  failure.  Personally  I  don't  care  a  bit  now 
—  unless  the  man  is  r<'ally  g(»od:  I  am  thinking  my  own 
thou;:ht>  all  tlu-  time.""  A  liHh'  later  he  wrote.  "To  eai-|\- 
Coniniunion  with  iand>a\'"-  and  a  few  day>  later  >till, 
April  'J.  "Cood  t'riday  ;iiid  I  fori;<tt  it  a-^h.•l^led  ol  iiiy- 
selt."  \ot  all  t  he  sceiio  ol  horror  ^M  i  iiiiiioted  :  "  1  here  are 
de;id    bodies   hanging  on    the   li.nbed    wire        one   (diiirka 


HARRY   GUSTAV   BYNG 

strangling  a  German,  Then  there  is  a  Httle  grave  bearing 
the  epitaph,  'Some  one's  leg.'"  Now  and  then  one  sur- 
prises him  in  a  furtive  act  of  kindness:  "This  morning  I 
came  across  two  artillery  limbers  all  shattered  and  in  one 
grave  next  to  them  three  men  were  buried.  It  was  pa- 
thetic. The  names  were  neatly  printed  on  the  cross,  with 
their  regimental  numbers,  etc.  I  took  two  pictures  of  it, 
and  if  it  is  good,  we  will  have  enlargements  made  and  sent 
to  the  men's  wives  or  mothers.  I  am  sure  it  would  mean  a 
lot  to  them." 

Here  are  a  few  longer  passages  from  Byng's  letters  in  the 
final  weeks  of  his  life: 

We  relieved  the  Grenadier  Guards.  The  men  are  a  fine  lot,  but 
now  that  the  original  officers  are  gone,  I  was  not  much  impressed 
by  their  substitutes,  and  the  result  is  of  course  that  the  men  get 
stale.  It  is  a  point  of  etiquette  in  the  service  to  hand  over  your 
trenches  clean  to  your  relief.  Well  this  was  not  really  bad,  but 
not  nearly  so  clean  as  our  CO.  insists  ours  must  be.  Johnson 
and  I  are  sharing  quite  a  palatial  dugout  which  we  took  over 
from  two  Lords.  It  is  always  rather  confusing  the  first  night,  but 
we  got  fixed  up  finally,  and  I  got  some  sleep  from  one  to  five. 
This  morning  we  cleaned  up,  as  far  as  possible,  but  it  is  not  very 
possible,  as  there  are  flooded  parts  everywhere  and  about  five 
inches  of  sticky  wet  clay.  We  arranged  cook  houses,  refuse  pits, 
loop  holes,  etc.,  and  were  not  called  down  by  the  C.  O.  —  that  is 
his  highest  form  of  praise.    Life  is  not  slack  in  the  trenches. 

It  is  now  10.45  and  at  12.30  we  march  off  to  be  inspected  by 
French.  We  have  had  a  parade  from  nine  to  ten  this  morning  to 
see  that  the  men  are  ready .  There  are  one  hundred  and  one  little 
things  you  have  to  inspect  —  shaving,  haircut,  boots  cleaned, 
buttons  all  there,  rifles  and  bayonets,  packs  neat  and  waterproof 
sheets  properly  folded,  equipments  properly  adjusted,  belts  tight, 
puttees  on  properly,  etc.     Personally  I  hate  these  inspections, 

44 


HARRY    (;rSTAV    HYX(. 

and  havinu:  been  a  Toniniy  niysolf.  I  know  how  nnuh  thoy  irri- 
tate the  men.  hut  it  is  all  part  of  the  disciphne.  The  whole  aim 
and  ohjeet  of  this  hard  ami  fast  discipline  is  to  make  oinMiiencc  an 
instinctive  hahit  with  the  men.  so  that  in  a  crisis  they  do  what 
they  are  told.  It  is  the  same  kind  of  idea  when  Har\afd  trains 
tliree  months  for  a  foothall  match  that  i>  oxer  in  an  hour  the 
only  ditierence  is  that  our  test  may  come  at  an_\  moment  and  >o 
there  ean  he  no  second  allowed  for  hreakin*^  trainin<:.  1  mn^t 
confess  I  don't  like  the  life  a  ^'reat  deal,  and  after  the  war.  1  shall 
get  out  of  the  regular  Army,  as  soon  as  I  can. 

AVe  are  still  M'ry  unsettled  — yesterday  morning'  wc  were  told 
that  we  should  prol)al)ly  stay  in  for  a  long  time  —  eighteen  days, 
and  tiien  sudtlenly  we  were  warned  to  he  ready  to  hand  ow-r  our 
trenches  tomorrow  (that  is  today).  The  ofHcer  of  the  relieving 
regiment  came  up  this  morning,  as  usual,  to  look  round,  ami  this 
afternoon  we  are  told  that  the  relief  is  cancelled,  so  we  don't 
know  where  we  are  at  all.  It  gets  a  little  trying  after  a  W(H>k  as 
you  feel  the  lack  of  sleep.  Personally,  though,  I  stand  it  i)retty 
well  —  the  night  shift  at  Sehenectady  taught  me  to  .sleep  during 
the  day.  I  hought  my  jjlatoon  flannel  strips  for  u.se  against  the 
gases,  but  so  far  we  have  not  l)een  troubled  —  I  am  not  very 
much  scared  of  them.  Hut  the  (iermans  are  dirty  hghters  in 
every  wa>'.  The  chief  unj)lea.santness  of  th(>se  trenches  is  the  nn- 
l)uried  dea<l  all  around  in  between  the  lines  -  direc-tly  wc  try  to 
l)ury  them,  our  parties  get  fir<>d  on,  so  they  have  to  be  left.  \  on 
get  used  U>  it,  just  as  you  do  to  everything  else  —  a  dead  body 
really  means  nothing  at  all.  it  simply  shows,  that  all  that  is  worth 
anything  of  the  person  has  gone  somew  Jiere  el>e.  l''rom  a  purely 
.sanitar\-  point  of  \iew  they  are  a  daii;:er.  llioni;li.  One  of  our 
patrols  yesterda\  brought  in  a  |)o(ket  book  taken  Ironi  a  dead 
(ierman  -  he  was  i)orn  in  bS!)7  pretty  yonn:^  to  gel  kille<l. 
\\e  lia\c  rumorN  here  that  we  did  \-ery  well  north  of  ^  jire^  la•^t 
ni^'lit  exploded  their  own  gas  and  shelled  them  heavily.  How 
true  it  i>,  1  don't  know. 


45 


HARRY   GUSTAV   BYNG 

We  were  relieved  last  night  about  eleven  —  Lord,  I  was 
pleased!  I  was  in  a  detached  post,  right  out  from  our  lines.  I 
just  had  my  platoon,  about  fifty  men,  two  machine-guns,  and  six 
bomb-throwers.  In  a  way  I  was  pleased  to  go,  as  they  send  the 
best  platoon  and  the  best  officer  from  each  company,  and  every- 
body took  it  as  a  matter  of  course  that  I  should  take  my  number 
nine  —  they  really  are  quite  a  splendid  lot.  You  have  to  patrol 
rather  a  lot  —  it  is  nervous  work,  but  really  fairly  safe.  You 
crawl  along  about  ten  yards  and  then  you  flop  and  stay  still  and 
listen.  The  chief  trouble  up  there  was  avoiding  the  dead  bodies. 
I  was  really  pleased  with  the  men  —  the  usual  routine  is  two 
hours  on  sentry  and  four  off.  I  had  to  have  two  hours  on  and  two 
hours  off,  but  they  never  complained,  and  yet  in  billets  they 
grouse  all  day  long. 

I  had  quite  a  compliment  paid  me  yesterday:  the  Brigadier 
wanted  a  very  important  patrol  done,  and  as  it  was  on  our  part 
of  the  line,  it  was  up  to  the  Border  Regiment  to  do  it.  Well,  of 
course  they  never  send  Senior  Officers  on  them,  and  I  was  told 
privately  (by  Bobby)  that  when  the  Brigadier  asked  for  the  best 
man  for  the  job,  I  was  chosen  at  once,  thanks  to  my  training  as  a 
scout.  We  had  to  find  out  the  kind  of  obstacle  to  an  advance  that 
a  ditch  would  be  which  ran  about  forty  yards  in  front  of  one  of 
our  advance  posts.  The  Germans  are  only  about  eighty  yards 
away,  so  it  needs  care  —  the  grass  is  getting  long  now^  and  really 
it  is  not  half  so  dangerous  as  it  sounds.  In  fact,  unless  they  see 
you  —  and  it  is  up  to  you  to  take  care  that  they  don't  —  every- 
thing being  aimed  at  the  tops  of  the  parapets  is  miles  above  you. 
Of  course  you  crawl  all  the  time.  I  am  getting  quite  used  to 
patrols  now.  Personally,  I  got  too  far  to  the  left,  but  as  a  patrol 
we  got  at  the  conformation  required  and  the  C.  O.  was  quite 
pleased  about  it,  and  sent  me  and  Goodman  up  to  the  Brigadier 
himself.  I  was  just  about  to  start  on  the  trip  last  night  after 
finishing  your  letter.  I  only  got  in  at  four  this  morning,  but  I  am 
going  to  have  a  long  sleep  tonight. 


46 


IIARRV    Gl'STAV    BYXCi 

On  May  l'-2  Byiig  wri)tt'  in  similar  Noin  of  his  assi^nnirnt 
to  ])atr()l  duty:  "It  is  a  darn  dani^crous  joh.  hut  it  i>  \itally 
necessary  for  tlie  attack,  and  it  is  a  <i:reat  conijjhnient  (a 
donbtful  one.  perhaps)  to  be  picked  out  for  it."  He  was 
leadinti;  his  men.  as  acting  captain,  in  an  attack  at  Festn- 
bert  on  May  1(5  when  lie  rec"ei\"ed  the  wounds  of  which  he 
died  in  a  Held  hospital  two  days  later.  He  "fell  on  the 
enemy's  trendies."  his  commanding  officer  wrote,  "where 
he  lay  all  day,  since  the  stretclier-bearers  could  not  icacli 
liim  until  nightfall."  It  is  also  told  by  a  friend  that  lie 
would  not  let  lu's  men  carry  him  to  the  rear.  lest  they  them- 
selves should  be  needlessly  exposed  in  the  process;  thus  he 
lay  uncomj)laining  from  three  in  the  mornin<i'  till  ei<i:ht  at 
ni^ht.  when  it  was  possible  to  move  him  in  safety  to  the 
hospital. 

He  i>  buried  at  Bethune  in  Picardie. 


HENRY  WESTON  FARNSWORTH 


Class  of  1912 


XlENRY  Earns  WORTH  was  the  first  of  the  Harvard  men 
fallen  in  the  war  whose  name  is  enshrined  in  a  permanent 
memorial  touching  the  daily  lives  of  students  at  Harvard. 
The  Earns  worth  Room  in  the  Widener  Library  Building,  a 
room  full  of  books  to  be  read  merely  for  pleasure,  and  in  a 
comforting  quiet,  symbolizes  with  special  aptness  the  sanc- 
tuary which  this  young  man,  through  the  brief  span  of  a 
life  crowded  with  more  than  the  commonly  allotted  share 
of  vivid  experience,  found  in  the  best  reading,  pictures,  and 
music. 

He  was  born  in  Dedham,  Massachusetts,  August  7,  1890, 
the  son  of  William  Earnsworth  of  the  Harvard  Class  of 
1877,  and  Lucy  Holman  (Burgess)  Earnsworth.    When  he 

48 


HENRY    WESTON    FARNSWORTII 

was  twt'ho  lie  \\vu\  \o  Cii-dtoii  Sfliool.  wlu'iici'  lie  proceeded 
to  Harvard  College,  as  a  ineiiiber  of  the  (  lass  of  lIM-i.  An 
anecdote  related  in  the  "Foreword"  to  a  ])ri\a1cly  |)rinl<(l 
volnnie  of  his  letters  suggests  the  difficulties  he  was  always 
to  encounter  in  following  the  trodden  i)alh>  of  convention: 

When  eleven  he  went  to  a  tlav-sclindl  in  l^ostmi.  It  was  his 
first  c-ontaet  with  the  outside  world.  Oiu-  day,  after  \w  had  Keen 
to  sehool  for  a  few  weeks,  he  eanie  home  tliri'e  iiours  late,  and 
said,  "Mother,  if  you  were  a  man,  would  you  want  to  experience 
life.^  I  felt  that  way  this  afternoon,  ami  I  have  had  a  soda  in 
every  sotla-water  fountain  in  IJoston." 

This  early  desire  to  experience  life  was  destined  to  carry 
him  far  afield.  His  first  summer  vacation  gave  him  a  taste 
of  camping  in  the  West,  an  initiation  into  the  heautx'  of 
"letting  nature  have  its  way."  Early  in  his  sophomore 
>-car.  dissatisfied  with  the  mode  of  life  into  which  he  had 
fallen  at  college,  he  resolved  to  follow  his  own  bent,  to  test 
his  own  resources,  and,  wifhouf  iid'ornn'ng  his  fann'iy  of  his 
l)lans,  shipped  as  a  deck-hand  on  a  cattle-ship  sailing  for 
England.  His  hopes  of  maintaining  him.self  hy  his  jx-n 
proved  delusive,  and.  in  response  to  an  ad\-crli.sement  ol 
work  to  he  had  at  a  sheep  station  in  Australia,  he  sailed 
.steerage  in  a  small  steamer,  hound  for  Melhourne.  "  Lord. 
I  wish  I  was  coming  into  the  tropics  again  for  the  fir^t 
time."  he  wrote  afterwards.  "I  came  through  the  Sue/ 
( 'a  nah  and  struck  the  East  all  in  a  heap.  Nine!  ecu  years  ol 
age,  and  a  head  full  of  all  kinds  of  rot  al  that."  The  magic 
of  Ea>tciii  nauu's  -  especially  Rang<»<»n.  Singapore.  I*a- 
rang  hcwitched  him.  "What  romance  I  had  in  tlio^c 
days,  and  how  (|ui<k  I  lo>l  it  lo<.,  I  ha  I  lool  kind,  I  mean. 
like  calf  loN'c." 

V.t 


HENRY   WESTON   FARNSWORTH 

Romance  met  with  rough  handhng  when  Farnsworth 
first  stepped  ashore  in  AustraHa.  This  was  at  Fremantle, 
where  his  ship  stopped  on  its  way  to  Melbourne.  Return- 
ing to  the  vessel  after  dark,  and  passing  through  a  rough 
part  of  the  town,  he  was  set  upon,  knocked  senseless,  and 
robbed  of  everything,  even  his  shoes.  Fortunately  he  was 
able  to  reach  the  ship  before  its  sailing,  but,  utterly 
stranded  in  Melbourne,  without  money  even  to  travel  on  to 
the  sheep  station  he  had  come  so  far  to  find,  he  was  obliged 
to  pocket  his  pride  and  cause  a  cable  to  be  sent  to  his  father, 
asking  for  a  little  money.  "All  the  rest  of  his  life,"  says  the 
"Foreword"  to  his  "Letters,"  "he  never  forgot  that  the 
first  act  of  his  struggle  for  independence  was  a  cry  for  help, 
when  he  had  travelled  to  the  other  side  of  the  world  to  try 
to  help  himself." 

The  help  that  came  from  home  enabled  him  to  spend 
seven  months  in  Australia  as  a  sheep-herder,  exercising  his 
skill  in  horsemanship,  and  at  the  same  time  doing  the  hard, 
solitary  thinking  which  brought  him  home  again  in  time 
for  the  next  year  of  study  at  college.  With  him  this  took 
the  form  of  a  wide  range  of  reading  in  man}^  literatures, 
paralleled  by  the  eager  hearing  of  all  the  good  music  within 
reach.  Through  attending  the  Harvard  Engineering  Camp 
in  the  summer  of  1911,  he  made  up  enough  of  his  inter- 
rupted studies  to  graduate  with  his  class  in  191*2.  That 
summer  he  passed  in  Europe,  especially  Russia,  and,  join- 
ing his  family  in  Paris,  returned  to  enter  the  Graduate 
School  of  Business  Administration  in  the  autumn.  Then 
the  Balkan  War  broke  out,  and  Farnsworth  hastened  to 
the  scene  of  it. 


50 


IIEXRV    WESTON    FAR NS WORTH 

Tlie  record  of  lii^  cxprrieiu-o  in  tlial  ui)lu'a\al  of  the 
Near  East  is  preserved  in  a  volnnic.  "Tlu-  Loir  of  a  Wonld- 
b.'  War  CorrespondtMit  "  which  \\v  |)ul)hslic(l  a  year  hitei-. 
Tlu'  news  of  '■  trouble  in  liaikans,"  Farnswortli  wrote, 
"seemed  to  l)e  received  with  calm  interest  l>y  the  |)ul)lic: 
l)ut  in  me  it  started  a  veritai)le  fire."  His  narrative  of  the 
results  showed  him  chiefly  occuj)ied  with  frantic  hut  un- 
availin<i:  endeavors  to  have  himself  attaciied  to  t  he  'I'nrkish 
Army  as  an  accredited  correspondent.  Failiuii:  in  thi>.  he 
mounted  himself  on  a  little  stallion  which  he  named  John 
Henry  Newman  ("John  Henry"  for  short),  set  forth  loudly 
whistling'  the  Eroica  Symj)hony  in  the  zest  of  his  |)ri\ate 
adventure  towards  tlie  front,  there  ran  imminent  risks  of 
cholera  and  >h(ll  fire,  saw  nuich  of  ghastly  and  entertaining 
realities,  and  wrote  about  them  afterwards  with  a  liveliness 
of  apprehension  and  description  worthy  of  something  more 
than  a  "  would-be  correspondent." 

I^ctuniiug  to  Amei-ica  he  took  uj)  his  studies  in  the  Har- 
vard Business  School  through  the  sj)ring  of  l!)b').  and  in 
the  autumn  of  that  year,  having  deternu'n(>d  to  make  w  ril- 
ing liis  oceui)ation,  .seized  an  opportunity  to  become  an 
actual  war  correspondent,  in  AFexico,  for  the  Providence 
Joiinidl.  His  letters  were  printed  on  the  editorial  j)age  of 
that  n<'wspaj)er,  and  on  lii>  return  to  the  I  nited  States  he 
.serxed,  in  the  winter-  of  l!)b'5  14,  on  its  staff  of  re|)()rters. 
liack  again  to  Mexico  he  weid  when  American  troops  were 
landed  at  \vr:\  ( 'i-u/,,  and  \\v  ua^  in  Mcxicd  (  "ity  w  hen  t  he 
I'juvtpcan  ^^ar  broke  out.  He  came  home  iinniccliatcly .  to 
rc(<-i\r  his  h<'ai-t*>  dcsirr  when  his  f.innly,  uiiimp(»rt  nned. 
cons«'nt<'d  to  his  setting  foith  to  Europe,  riierr  in-  mt  ant 
to  look  1)11  and  write  about   what   lies;i\\.     Relofe  t  he  en<  1  of 


HENRY   WESTON   FARNSWORTH 

October  he  was  in  Paris,  and  ready  to  join  an  independent 
fighting  corps  in  case  of  its  acceptance  by  the  British  Gov- 
ernment. This  was  not  accorded,  and  after  a  visit  to  Spain 
and  a  lonely  month  in  the  Island  of  Mallorca,  Farns worth 
found  himself  back  in  Paris,  where  the  cause  of  France  took 
such  hold  upon  him  that  on  January  1,  1915,  with  the 
cabled  consent  of  his  family,  he  enlisted  in  the  Foreign 
Legion  for  the  duration  of  the  war. 

His  printed  letters  show  what  manner  of  man  he  was, 
what  manner  of  life  he  led  in  the  Legion,  more  clearly  than 
could  anything  else.    Let  the  following  passages  tell  their 

story : 

Paris,  January  5,  1915. 

I  formally  and  definitely  joined  the  Legion  Etrangere  this 
morning,  and  tomorrow  morning  I  go  into  barracks  here  in  Paris, 
and  as  soon  as  the  company  is  ready,  on  to  the  front.  The  join- 
ing was  to  me  very  solemn.  After  being  stripped  and  examined 
as  carefully  as  a  horse,  and  given  a  certificate  of  "aptitude"  I 
went  to  another  place  and  was  sworn  in.  A  little  old  man  with 
two  medals  and  a  glistening  eye  looked  over  my  papers  and  then 
in  a  strong  voice  asked  if  I  was  prepared  to  become  a  soldier  of 
France  and,  if  asked  to,  lay  down  my  life  for  her  cause.  Then  I 
signed,  and  was  told  to  report  the  next  morning  and  be  prepared 
to  start  training  at  once. 

I  went  out  and  walked  down  the  Boulevard  des  Invalides,  with 
Napoleon's  tomb  behind  me.  It  was  warm  and  foggy,  and  the 
golden- winged  horses  on  the  Pont  Alexandre  III  seemed  to  be 
stirring  through  the  mist.  Lately  I  have  come  to  love  Paris  be- 
yond all  cities,  and  now  I  think  in  a  dim  way  I  can  understand 
how  the  French  love  it. 

Paris,  January  9,  1915. 

In  the  first  place,  there  is  no  tough  element  at  all.  Many  of 
the  men  are  educated,  and  the  very  lowest  is  of  the  high-class 
workman  type.    In  my  room,  for  instance,  there  are  "Le  Petit 

52 


HENRY    WKSTON    FAKNSWOimi 

Pere  I  lilin,"  an  old  Alsatian,  who  lias  alreaily  serxcij  t'tnirtttMi 

years  in  the  Legictn  in  ( "liina  and  Moron-o;  the  Corporal  Ix'hrun, 

a  Sociahst  well  known  in  his  own  district;  Entrier,  a  Swiss  eotton 

broker  from  Havre;  Donald  Caniphell,  a  newspaper  man  and 

short -story  writer,  who  will  not  serve  in  the  Kn^lish  arm>   !»<•- 

cause  his  family  left  England  in  174."),  with  the  exeeption  of  his 

father,  who  was  Cajitain  in  the  Royal  Irish  Fusiliers;  Snknna.  a 

Fijian  student  at  Oxfortl,  hlack  as  ink;  Hath,  a  Dane,  o\-er  >i\ 

feet, whom  Campbell  aptly  calls  "The  Blonde  lieast"(r/Wr  "/ar- 

athustra");  Von  somebody,  another  Dane,\"eiy  >inall  and  yonn«i; 

Bastados,  a  Swiss  carpenter,  l)orn  and  bred  in  the  .\lps,  who 

sings  —  when  given  half  a  litre  of  canteen   wine — tar  better 

than  most  comic  opera  stars,  and  who  at  times  does  the  Ranz  dcs 

]'ac}ie.s  so  that  even  Petit  Pere  Uhlin  claps;  the  brigadier  Mu.s- 

sorgsky,  cousin  descendant  of  the  comi)o.ser,  a  little  Russian;  two 

or  three  Polish  Jews,  nondescript  Belgians,  Greeks,  Roumanians, 

etc.    I  already  have  enough  to  write  a  long  (ten  thousand  word) 

article,  and  at  the  end  of  the  cami)aign  can  write  a  book  truly 

interesting. 

Paris.  Jaimari/  17,  V.)l-'>. 

The  other  day  I  bought  a  pair  of  l)oots  and  was  at  the  cuissc 
paying  for  them,  when  the  manager  of  the  .shop  dashed  up  and 
.said  he  would  not  take  any  payment  from  "»»  dcs  petits  Legion- 
naires.'^ I  explained  to  him  that  I  had  plenty  of  money,  but  that 
if  he  would  give  me  a  reduction,  I  would  .see  that  the  difference 
went  where  it  would  be  really  appreciated.  He  gave  me  ten 
francs  off,  and  I  gave  five  to  \a'  Petit  Pere  I'lilin  and  five  to  de 
Hath,  a  Dane  and  a  gentleman,  exj)laining  of  courM-  how  1  got 
the  moiH'y.  rhiin  sent  a  money  order  to  his  wife  in  .VIsaee,  and 
de  Hath  bought  a  i)air  of  gloves.  I  mention  this  episode  because 
it  is  a  g«)od  example  of  the  way  things  go  in  our  eonii)any.  Al- 
though ridin  has  spent  hours  showing  nie  how  to  take  down  the 
rifle,  to  grease  boots,  fence  with  the  bayonet,  polish  my  belt.  etc.. 
I  have  never  dare<|  oll'er  him  aM.\  money,  all  Imugh  I  knew  he  had 
not  a  cent  except  the  live  cenliriKs  per  day  that  is  the  regulati(.n 
pay. 


HENRY   WESTON   FARNSWORTH 

About  March  7,  1915. 
(After  moving  toward  the  front.) 

Then  came  the  magic  of  the  nights.   At  sundown  we  began  to 
do  sentry,  hour  on  and  hour  off  till  daylight.   We  were  about  fifty 
metres  from  the  German  trenches  and  not  allowed  to  shoot  (why, 
I  don't  know).  As  the  night  grows,  and  you  stand  crouching  and 
watching  for  any  sign  of  life  ahead  of  you,  the  very  air  seems  to 
come  to  life.    All  is  still,  nobody  talks  above  a  whisper,  and  all 
lights  are  out.    From  trenches,  all  along  the  maze  of  line,  shots 
crack  out  and  stray  impersonal  bullets  whiz  by  on  unknown  er- 
rands.  A  huge  rocket  candle  shoots  up  and  hangs  for  a  moment 
above  the  earth,  lighting  up  a  section  of  the  country,  big  guns 
boom  out,  and  shells  like  witches  riding  to  a  feast  whiz  by.  Some- 
times, with  a  whistle  and  bang,  a  half-dozen  "7o's"  swoop  over 
like  a  covey  of  devil's  quail,  and  we  stand  crouching  and  watch- 
ing for  any  sign  of  human  life.    It  never  came.    Just  the  imper- 
sonal bang  and  whistle. 

May  30,  1915. 
Of  the  last  six  days  in  the  lines,  rieyi  a  signaler,  except  two 
patrols,  which  lacked  nothing  but  the  Germans  to  make  them 
successful.  Between  the  lines  is  a  broad  fertile  field  of  beet  sugar 
and  clover.  It  is  grown  high  enough  to  hide  a  man  crawling  on 
his  stomach,  and  in  spots,  even  on  all  fours.  It  is  here  that  the 
patrols  take  place.  The  first  was  an  attempted  ambuscade.  Fif- 
teen of  us,  with  an  adjutant,  a  sergeant,  and  two  corporals,  went 
out  and  hid  in  a  spot  where  Germans  had  been  seen  twice  before. 
None  appeared.  The  next  night  seven  of  us  were  detailed  to 
carry  French  papers,  telling  of  Italy's  declaration  of  war,  into 
the  German  lines.  We  crawled  from  9  o'clock  till  11.30,  and 
succeeded  in  sticking  papers  on  their  barbed  wire.  They  have 
since  then  steadily  ignored  them,  much  to  our  disgust. 

There  is  a  certain  fascination  in  all  this,  dull  though  it  may 
seem.  The  patrol  is  selected  in  the  afternoon.  At  sunset  we  meet 
to  make  the  plans  and  tell  each  man  his  duty;  then  at  dark  our 
pockets  are  filled  with  cartridges,  a  drawn  bayonet  in  the  belt, 
and  our  magazines  loaded  to  the  brim.   We  go  along  the  hoyau  to 

54 


ITEXRY    WESTOX    FARXSWORTH 

the  petit  postf  from  wliich  it  is  drcidfd  to  U'avc.  All  aloiij,'  the 
line  the  sentinels  wish  us  -^'ood  hiek  and  a  safe  return.  In  the 
petit  poste  we  chinip  on  tlie  l>ayonets,  hlow  noses,  clear  throats, 
and  prepare  for  three  hours  of  utter  silence.  At  a  \v(»rd  from  the 
chief  we  form  line  in  the  prearranj^eil  order.  The  sentries  wish 
us  luck  for  the  last  time,  and  the  chief  jumps  uj)  on  the  edi^e  of 
the  trenches  and  he^'ins  to  work  his  way  (|uiekl\-  through  the 
barbed  wire.  Once  outside  he  ilisappears  in  the  beet  wi'ed>  and 
one  after  another  we  follow. 

Then  betrins  the  erawl  to  the  apjjointed  s|)ot.  We  •xo  slowly, 
with  frequent  halts.  Every  sound  nuist  l)e  analyzed.  On  the 
occasion  of  the  would-be  aml)ush,  I  admit  I  went  to  sleep  after  a 
while  in  the  warm  fresli  clover  where  we  la.v.  It  was  the  adju- 
tant him.self  who  woke  me  up  with  a  sli<j:ht  hiss;  I)ut  as  he  chose 
me  again  next  ni^lit,  he  does  not  seem  to  have  thought  it  a  seri- 
ous matter. 

Then,  too,  once  home  we  do  not  mount  guard  all  the  rest  of 
the  night,  and  are  allowed  to  sleep  in  the  morning;  als<)  there  are 
small,  but  pleasing,  discu.ssions  of  the  affair,  and  aboxt^  all  the 
hope  of  .some  night  suddenly  leaping  out  of  the  darkness  hand  to 
hand  with  the  Germans. 

August  13.  lUir,. 

We  will  {)robably  go  to  the  trenches  shortly.  If  .so,  .so  much 
the  better;  l)ut  if  we  are  lil)erate(l,  I  think  I  shall  dash  home  by 
the  first  boat  and  stay  there  a  month  or  six  weeks  and  get  my 
"Campaign  with  the  Ix'gion"  written  and  then  trv  to  get  back 
again  in  the  Aviation  or  Ambulance,  or  anything  that  Papa  aj)- 
proves.  This  .seems  too  ideally  hapjn'  e\-er  to  come  t  rue  - —  worse 
than  that,  I  dreamt  the  whole  thing  last  night,  and  my  dreams 
ne\er  <-onie  true. 

Sf])tniil>tr  /';.  i;>t'>. 

I  was  in  the  ranks  .  .  .  this  lll(p|•IliIlL^  wlieii.  a  dixisioii  being 
draw  n  up.  M  .  I'oiticare  and  M  .  M  illciand  and  ( Jeneral  d<'  ( "astel- 
nan,  and  a  lot  of  others.  pres<'nted  the  regiment  with  a  (lag  deco- 
rated with  t  he  ijrandr  Croi.r  dr  (iiurrc  .  .  .  .The  I 'resident  ■<  speech 

55 


HENRY   WESTON   FARNSWORTH 

was  good,  and  very  short,  and  addressed  —  it  is  characteristic  of 
the  French  attitude  towards  the  Legion  —  to  the  Zouaves  and 
tirailleurs,  the  fourth  regiment  of  the  latter  having  received  a  flag 
as  well.  He  spoke  of  the  Marne,  where  the  Division  broke  the 
Prussian  guard,  and  ended  up  with  a  ringing  praise  for  the  action 
north  of  Arras.  It  was  also  characteristic  that  the  Legion  re- 
ceived its  flag  before  the  others,  and  that  our  Colonel  gave  the 
commands. 

I  shall  write  again  in  three  or  four  days.  Now  I  must  go  and 
bathe  in  a  mountain  stream.  Thirty-five  kilometers  on  top  of 
the  review  and  the  defile  make  it  necessary. 

Less  than  a  fortnight  later  Farnsworth  was  killed  in  the 
Battle  of  Champagne.  His  friend,  the  Fijian  prince,  who 
had  been  a  student  at  Oxford,  thus  wrote  of  Farnsworth's 
last  fight,  and  of  his  own  debt  of  life  to  his  comrade : 

Hospital  Complimentaire,  17  Pre  Aux  Clercs, 
Lyon  (Brett aux),  France, 

October  2,  1915. 
Dear  Mr.  Farnsworth: 

At  the  request  of  your  son,  I  am  to  say  with  real  pain  that  he 
was  severely  wounded  on  the  afternoon  of  the  ^Sth  of  September 
last,  on  the  fourth  day  of  the  battle  of  Champagne,  a  little  in 
front  of  the  German  wire  entanglements  of  the  second  line  before 
the  Fortin  de  Navarin.  A  large  number  of  machine  guns  were  on 
the  right  flank,  and  in  front,  where  they  were  concentrating  their 
fire  on  the  leading  files  of  the  attacking  party,  and  no  stretcher- 
bearer  could  possibly  reach  the  spot  where  he  was  lying.  Toward 
dusk,  the  column  was  still  being  held  up.  I  left  for  the  rear  about 
this  time,  but  all  I  could  do,  I  regret  to  say,  was  to  ask  medical 
people  to  go  up  if  possible.  As  one  who  has  seen  a  great  deal  of 
him  here,  I  would  venture  to  mention  how  much  his  coolness 
under  fire  has  on  occasions  helped  to  steady  the  section,  and  how 
his  indifference  to  danger  prompted  him  at  all  times  to  volunteer 
for  the  most  dangerous  posts.    Under  a  withering  rifle  and  ma- 

56 


HENRY    WESTOX    FARNSWORTIl 

chine  gun  fire,  he  denied  my  first  word  and  diiu  a  luAc  for  in(>.  to 
whieh  act  I  probably  owe  my  hfe.  V\)  to  the  present,  no  frrsh 
inf(»rmation  of  iiim  lias  come  inv  wav.  hut  I  shall  alwavs  i)e  ;rhui 
to  furnish  any  previous  news.  May  1  hen-  »'\p^•■^•^  my  profound 
and  sincere  sympathies. 

^  cry  trul>'  yours, 

.1.    I..   \'.  SlKlNA. 

And  \'ict()r  (Minjinmn,  un\  of  (Iroton  hut  of  St.  Paul's 
School,  wrote  thus  of  his  college  contemporary  and  fellow 
Legionnaire: 

Camp  n'.VvoHn,  yotriiibcr  J.  lUI.'t. 

To  Groton  School,  (iRoxox,  Massachusetts: 

I  suppose  you  have  heard  l)y  now  that  Henry  Farnsworth  was 
killed  in  the  last  days  of  Sei)teml)er.  A  brave  fellow  he  was  and  a 
gallant  one.  The  two  or  three  times  I  met  him  at  college  he  made 
little  impression.  But  of  the  months  I  knew  him  in  the  Ix'gion, 
I  respected  him  and  enjoyed  his  companionship  more  and  more. 
When  everything  was  going  badly  —  we  were  disreputably  offi- 
cered in  the  Sme  de  marche— and  every  man  was  finding  fault, 
grumbling,  making  all  the  possible  stej)s  to  get  out  of  I  he  h('ij:i<>n 
into  French  regiments,  lie  was  always  optimistic,  .serene,  an<l  an 
immense  moral  force  in  his  company.  "Ix'ave  the  Ix-gion? 
Xever!"  When  we  were  transferred  to  the  .'///r  de  marvheiwul  the 
true  Ix'gion,  then  he  was  exultant.  Many  of  the  .iinc  felt  insulted 
to  Ix-  put  with  these  "desperate  characters";  biif  he  oidy  luld 
tliciii  ^nicc  they  had  conic  to  fi;:lil,  they  should  be  tlic  nioi-c 
haj)py  to  be  put  with  the  most  fearless,  p<ihaps  the  most  fanioiis 
regiment  in  France,  since  flic  !Hli  of  Ma\'  and  Kllh  of  .Iiuie.  I 
know  lie  conid  lia\'e  wislied  for  nothing  more  glorioUN  than  to 
<lie  as  he  did  w  lien  the  1 1  rr  fllraiKfrc  again  covered  ils<'lf  uilh 
honor  on  IIk-  x^IMIi.  TIic  iirddlciirs  Ah/rrlins  (IiiicIumI  on  the 
riglil,  but    lii^   H.ittalion  went   on  .iiid  was  deiiio|iN|icd. 

\  l<   rnu    (    11  \l'\l  \\. 


CHARLES  ROBERT  CROSS,  Jr. 


Class  of  1903 


Oharles  Robert  Cross,  Jr.,  was  a  veritable  son  of 
New  England.  Through  his  father,  Charles  Robert  Cross, 
Thayer  Professor  of  Physics  in  the  Massachusetts  Institute 
of  Technolog3^  he  traced  descent  from  Robert  Cross,  who 
settled  in  Ipswich,  Massachusetts,  about  1635,  and  be- 
came a  soldier  in  the  Pequot  War;  through  his  mother, 
Mariana  (Pike)  Cross,  from  Robert  Pike,  who  came  to 
Salisbury,  also  in  1635,  and  is  remembered,  as  Professor 
Cross  has  said  in  an  unpublished  account  of  his  son  from 
which  most  of  this  memoir  is  directly  and  indirectly  drawn, 
"for  his  just  treatment  of  the  Quakers  and  his  denuncia- 
tion of  the  Witchcraft  delusion." 

Robert,  or  "Bob,"  Cross,  as  his  friends  habitually  called 
him,  was  born  in  Roxbury,  Boston,  June  17,  1881.    Pre- 

58 


CHARLES  ROHERT  CROSS,  .In. 

pared  for  college  at  Nohle  aiul  (ireeiiougirs  Sehool  in  Hos- 
ton,  he  i)assed  his  entrance  exann"nations  to  Harvard  in 
1398,  with  (Jreek,  and  withont  a  condition.  "Indeed."  his 
father  adds,  *'he  never  made  a  faihnc  in  school,  college,  or 
])rofessional  school." 

As  eighteen  was  believed  a  better  age  than  seventeen  for 
him  to  enter  Harvard,  he  passed  the  academic  year  of  1S!)S 
-99  as  a  student  at  the  Massachnsetts  Institute  of  Tech- 
nology, applying  himself  with  good  results  to  science  and 
languages,  with  which  he  was  credited  in  his  college  course. 
This  preliminary  work  and  faithful,  though  not  the  hard- 
est, study  in  college  qualified  him  for  his  degree  in  19(h2. 
but  he  remained  with  his  class  until  its  graduation  in  1!M);), 
having  aimed  rather  at  general  cultivation  than  at  mastery 
in  any  single  field  intensively  worked.  A  true  fondness 
for  nuisic  kept  him  diligently  practising  at  the  piano 
through  college  and  beyond. 

Already  he  had  become  an  "outdoors  man."  Dissuaded 
from  the  more  violent  athletics  l^y  the  fannly  physician, 
Cro.ss  .spent  much  of  his  time  during  his  undergraduate 
years  at  the  Oakley  Country  Club,  develoi)ing  a  fine  phy- 
si(jue  through  open-air  exerci.ses.  As  a  bo\'  he  had  greatly 
enjoyed  climbing  in  the  White  Mountains.  His  love  of 
mountain  scenery  and  nature  in  its  solitudes  was  nourished 
during  his  college  course  by  the  use  to  which  lie  put  his 
.■^iimiiicr  \acati()ns.  Al  the  end  of  lii>  froliman  year  he 
visited  the  Canadian  Hockio  and  had  liis  firs!  experience 
of  snow -elimbing  with  guides.  In  cadi  of  the  ne\l  llii-ce 
-unmiers  he  fra\'elle<|  in  l'!urope.  and  in  l!")|  .mhI  I!>(('2 
made  -.oliie  liolable  a>>ceiil>  ill   the  .VIps. 


CHARLES  ROBERT  CROSS,  Jr. 

From  1903  to  1906,  when  he  took  the  degree  of  LL.B.,  he 
was  a  student  working  hard  and  maintaining  an  excellent 
position  in  the  Harvard  Law  School.  In  1907  he  was  ad- 
mitted to  the  Massachusetts  Bar.  Before  he  entered  upon 
the  practice  of  his  profession  he  spent  another  year  at  the 
Institute  of  Technology,  in  the  expectation  of  devoting 
himself  especially  to  patent  law.  Finding  that  other 
branches  of  the  profession  really  interested  him  more,  he 
abandoned  this  intention  and  in  the  autumn  of  1907  en- 
tered the  law  office  of  Boyden,  Palfrey,  Bradlee  &  Twom- 
bly,  in  Boston.  Here  he  remained  until  1913,  when  he 
withdrew,  meaning  to  open  an  office  of  his  own  or  to  enter 
business.  But  a  long  summer  expedition,  for  the  double 
purpose  of  exploration  and  of  restoring  himself  to  normal 
health  after  an  extended  period  of  professional  labor,  was 
to  come  first.  He  had  then  been  out  of  college  ten  years, 
and  his  own  account  of  himself,  written  for  the  Decennial 
Report  of  his  class,  will  show,  better  than  any  paraphrase 
of  his  words,  what  the  years  had  brought  to  him  —  and  he 
to  them: 

As  I  glance  back  at  the  time  that  has  passed  since  I  became  a 
graduate,  it  seems  that  my  life  has  been  governed  by  two  gods: 
the  spirit  of  modern  civilization  that  gathers  its  slaves  together 
in  cities,  and  goads  them  on  to  toil  in  the  crowded  rounds  of  busi- 
ness, medicine,  or  law,  striving  for  money  and  fame  among  men; 
and  the  red  spirit  of  the  wilderness  and  the  wild,  that  leads  its 
followers,  regardless  of  the  consequences,  in  search  of  the  still 
places  of  the  earth  and  regions  where  nature  yet  holds  undis- 
puted reign. 

The  first  of  these  two  masters  carried  me  through  the  Harvard 
Law  School,  from  which  I  graduated  in  1906,  through  two  sum- 
mers and  a  winter  in  Technology,  and  finally,  into  an  ofiice  in  the 

60 


CHARLES  ROBERT  CROSS.  .In. 

city  oi  Boston,  in  whitli  (lilirc  I  >till  am  ami  wlu're  f»)r  tlu"  la>t 
four  or  five  years  I  have  worketl  in  tlu'  practice  of  law.  The 
second  of  my  ma.ster.s  ha.s  led  me  not  only  thron^h  the  woods  and 
mountains  and  upon  the  streams  of  New  England,  hut  also  on 
journeys  to  regions  remote  and  unfrec|uented.  Duriiii:  tlif  first 
four  vears  after  leavintf  the  Law  School  I  hunted  for  nian\- 
months  in  the  Northwest;  I  .saw  a  sunnner  pass  and  a  fall  while 
I  travelled  the  woods  and  mountains  of  the  upper  Stikine  and  the 
headwaters  of  the  ALickenzie  in  .search  of  hear  and  moose  and 
sheep;  a  s])rin^  came  and  a  sunnner  went  as  1  wandered  amon<,' 
the  snowy  cloud-shrouded  peaks  of  the  Alaska  peninsula,  trailing' 
the  great  brown  hear  in  his  haunts  by  the  Rehring  Sea;  and  again 
as  I  followed  tlie  bear  and  the  wliite  sheep  of  the  North  over  the 
ragged  mountains  of  the  Kenai,  the  fall  days  grew  .short  and  the 
winter's  snows  drove  down.  And  in  the  last  three  years,  even 
since  I  i>erforce  have  l)ecome  closely  bound  to  the  city  and  a 
lawyer's  work  therein,  still  my  red  god  has  led  me  each  fall  for  a 
few  weeks  to  the  marshes  and  barrens  of  Newfoundland,  where 
the  caribou  yet  move  ghost-like  among  the  woods  and  through 
the  fogs  driving  low  across  the  opens,  and  where,  as  in  Saltatha's 
country  of  the  nuisk  ox,  "the  lakes  are  sometimes  misty  and 
sometimes  blue  and  the  loons  cry  often." 

The  summer  expedition  of  19L'J  took  Robert  Cross,  with 
Mr.  Edw  ard  Preble  of  the  rnited  States  Biological  Survey, 
into  the  .scantily  explored  region  of  Lake  Babine  in  British 
Colund>ia.  east  of  the  Skeena  River.  The  i)rescnc-e  and 
.species  of  the  mountain  shcH^p  of  this  region  were  the  spe- 
cial objects  of  his  studx  .  l''r<)iii  this  exi)editioii  lie  rclurned 
to  Boston  late  in  the  aiilunin  of  I!n:5.  and  in  the  s|)riiig  of 
]!»l  1-  wa^  ^lill  weighing  the  merits  of  possible  i)erniaiient  eiii- 
ployment>  in  business  and  tlic  law  when  Ihe  opporl  iinil.\ 
came  to  join  lii-  friend  S.  l*re~>col  I  h'a.x  llar\ard."(>7  >  in  ex- 
ploring the  region  of  British  ( '()lnnd)ia  bet  w  cen  I  lie  'N  ellow 

01 


CHARLES  ROBERT  CROSS,  Jr. 

Head  Pass  and  Peace  River,  in  which  Mr.  Fay  had  already 
travelled.  It  was  the  last  large  area  of  British  Columbia 
from  which  it  was  to  be  hoped  that  much  fresh  scientific  in- 
formation could  be  brought.  An  account  of  the  successes, 
hardships,  and  pleasures  encountered  by  the  two  explorers, 
accompanied  by  Mr.  Fred  Brewster  of  Jasper,  Alberta, 
with  two  helpers  and  twenty  head  of  horses,  was  con- 
tributed by  Mr.  Fay  to  Appalachia  for  June,  1915.  From 
this  and  other  far  northern  expeditions  Cross  brought  home 
noble  trophies  of  the  hunt  in  the  form  of  heads  and  skins, 
some  of  which  are  to  be  seen  in  the  "Aesculapian  Room" 
of  the  Harvard  Club  of  Boston,  where  thev  have  been 
placed  by  the  Harvard  Travellers  Club,  of  which  Cross  was 
first  a  member  and  then  a  fellow.  Reports  of  his  several  ex- 
plorations in  Alberta,  British  Columbia,  and  Alaska  were 
duly  made  to  the  United  States  Biological  Survey,  and  of 
those  in  Newfoundland  to  the  Agent  of  the  Newfoundland 
Railway. 

Emerging  from  the  wilds  at  a  station  of  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company,  in  October,  1914,  Cross  and  his  compan- 
ions first  heard  of  the  war  in  Europe.  "It  must  be  a  fierce 
state  of  affairs."  he  immediatelv  wrote  home.  Late  in  No- 
vember  the  party  arrived  at  Jasper,  whence  it  had  set  forth 
in  June,  and  before  the  end  of  the  year  Cross  was  back  in 
Boston.  His  mind  was  promptly  made  up  to  go  to  Europe 
and  do  what  he  could  in  the  cause  of  the  Allies.  The 
thought  of  seeking  a  commission  in  the  Canadian  Army 
was  rejected  because  he  felt  so  strongly  that  the  time  must, 
and  should,  come  when  his  own  country  would  join  the 
belligerents,  and  that  his  strength  should  be  kept  for  that 
day.    He  had  been  a  member  of  Battery  A  of  the  Massa- 

62 


CHARLES  ROBERT  CROSS,  Ju. 

chiisetts  :Militia  from  l!M).)  to  1!>1 1.  and.  with  all  his  skill  in 
marksmanship  and  in  ontdoor  i)nrsnits,  ashoiv  and  afloat, 
must  have  been  conscions  of  a  rare  capacity  for  the  j)hy.>i- 
cal  stni^frlc  of  war.  For  the  i)rcscnt.  iiowcvcr,  the  best  op- 
portunity for  usefulness  seemed  to  lie  in  some  form  of  relief 
service,  and  witliout  knowing  jn>t  what  that  form  >liould 
be  —  since  all  tliis  work  was  less  definitely  organized  then 
than  later  —  he  sailed  for  Havre  on  January  •20,  !!)].>. 

A  severe  attack  of  bronchitis  in  Paris  delayed  his  en- 
trance iij)on  active,  though  tenij)orary,  emi)loyment  as  a 
driver  for  the  American  Ambulance  at  Dunkirk,  Having 
entered  this  s(>rvice  with  the  understanding  that  he  could 
leavi'  it  at  w  ill  because  he  was  meeting  all  his  own  expenses, 
he  soon  joined  the  American  Distributing  Service,  an 
agency  organized  and  maintained  from  the  very  beginning 
of  the  war  by  the  wife  of  Robert  Woods  Bliss,  of  the  Har- 
vard Class  of  1900,  counsellor  of  the  American  Embassy  at 
Paris.  Hs  special  mission  was  the  collection  and  delivery 
of  supplies  to  hospitals,  of  which,  with  a  small  but  de\()t(>d 
.staff,  it  was  then  serving  more  than  seven  hundred,  J'he 
appeal  which  this  service  nuide  to  Cross  \\as,  as  he  wrote 
home,  that  "it  is  real  work  that  counts."  and.  moreover, 
that  "they  are  j)lanning  to  mo\-e  their  work  into  Poland 
and  j)erha])s  Serbia," 

'i'lie  move  to  Serbia  came  earlier  than  could  have  been 
expected.  Indeed  he  had  hardl.x'  begun  his  work  with  the 
Aineiican  I  )ist  ribut  ing  Ser\ice  in  Paris  when  Dr.  IJichard 
P.  Strong.  Professor  of  Tropical  Medicine  in  the  llai\ard 
JVledical  School,  who  had  conic  to  Paris  willi  the  llar\ai-d 
Surgical  Cm!  for  a  term  of  >ei\  ice  a!  t  he  Aiiiericaii  Aiiiltii- 
laiHc  Hdvpilal  in   Pari^,  liecaiiic  ilircclor  of  the  American 


CHARLES  ROBERT  CROSS,  Jr. 

Red  Cross  Sanitary  Commission  to  Serbia,  financed  by  the 
Red  Cross  and  the  Rockefeller  Foundation,  and  asked 
Cross  to  join  him,  as  executive  assistant,  in  the  great  fight 
against  typhus.  Here  was  work  for  a  man  who  had  con- 
ducted expeditions  of  his  own  through  difficult  countries. 
His  hands  were  at  once  filled  with  manifold  details.  "I 
have  been  on  the  dead  jump,"  he  wrote  to  America,  "ever 
since  Dr.  Strong  told  me  he  wanted  me  to  come  with  him 
if  I  cared  to  go.  I  have  been  acting  the  part  of  '  courier '  for 
him,  getting  the  necessary  papers  to  get  out  of  France  and 
making  arrangements  for  the  journey.  It  has  seemed  best 
to  get  an  entire  camp  outfit,  as  we  shall  be  in  Nish  a  week 
before  the  outfit  arrives  via  Salonica,  for  we  go  via  Berne, 
Vienna,  Budapest,  Sofia,  etc.,  and  hotels  may  not  be  safe. 
...  I  felt  there  was  a  lot  of  work  to  be  done  and  not  too 
many  who  wanted  to  do  it.  I  felt  also  that  the  work  under- 
taken by  Strong  and  Shattuck  and  the  rest  was  a  great  one. 
...  As  for  the  risk,  for  there  is  undoubtedly  a  risk,  it 
seemed  to  me  that  if  Strong  and  Shattuck  could  take  it  I 
could." 

A  letter  from  Nish,  the  ancient  Roman  city  of  Nissa, 
described  the  places  through  which  he  passed  with  Dr. 
Strong  on  his  way  to  Serbia,  the  familiar  view  of  the  Alps 
from  Berne,  the  tension  of  feeling  and  the  phenomenon  of 
bread-tickets  in  Vienna,  the  liveliness  and  beauty  of  Buda- 
pest, the  oriental  aspect  of  Bucharest,  the  antiquity  and 
strangeness  of  Nish  itself.  From  Skoplje,  where  Dr.  Strong 
began  his  work.  Cross  made  trips  with  him  to  "typhus 
villages,"  to  Belgrade,  and  other  places.  The  transporta- 
tion of  sorely  needed  supplies  was  a  task  of  the  first  impor- 
tance.  When  Cross  felt  that  he  had  done  all  that  a  layman 

6-t 


CHARLES  ROBERT  CROSS.  .Tu. 

might  to  prt.'i)aiv  the  way  for  the  pliysiciaiis'  ut)rk  of  sani- 
tation, he  was  making  ready,  hite  in  May.  to  return  to 
Paris.  Just  at  tliis  t  iiiie  1  )r.  Sf  i-oiig  found  t  hat  condit  ions  in 
Montenegro  were  siieli  tiiat  a  dangerous  t)nthreak  of  tyjiiius 
coukl  be  prevented  only  l)y  (h'(isi\e  measures.  Dr.  V.  H. 
Grinnell  (Harvard,  \)i)),  of  Dr.  Strong's  staff,  was  accord- 
ingly detailed  to  Montenegro.  None  of  the  other  medical 
men  could  be  spared.  "So  (Irinnell  was  uj)  against  it." 
Cress  wrote  on  May  "^T  in  a  letter  from  Skoplji',  "both  for 
a  comi)anion  anil  a  person  to  help  manage  the  game.  He 
th(>n  asked  me  whether  T  would  be  willing  to  lend  him  a 
hand,  and  of  course  I  said  yes.  'When  the  other  sevent\- 
five  does  from  the  States  get  here  one  or  two  will  come  over 
to  assi.st,  and  probably  there  will  be  no  more  need  for  me." 

The  pre.ssure  of  the  immediate  need  was  revealed  l)y 
Cros.s's  .saying  in  the  letter  just  quoted,  "This  morning  we 
started  sixty  bullock  wagons  of  medical  supplies,  etc., 
down  on  the  train  to  a  place  that  sounds  like  Mitravika 
[Mitrovitza?].  and  we  follow  tomorrow  morning  and  will 
proceed  day  after  tomorrow,  if  there  are  no  delays,  to  Abm- 
tenegro." 

Professor  Cross  ha.s  written,  in  the  sketch  of  his  son: 

No  letters  were  received  from  M()iitenef,'r(),  several  lia\iii^' 
l)een  lost  in  the  mails.  .  .  .  Dr.  (ieorge  Shattuek  told  iiic  llial  on 
thearri\al  of  Dr.  (irinnell  and  Rol»ert  at  1\(  li  in  M.tiilfnc^'ro. 
whiili  they  were  to  make  tluir  headcjuarters.  the  IJishoj)  of  rech 
invited  them  toestal)lish  them.selves  within  the  niona^lerv  walls, 
.since,  as  he  told  them,  the  .Vlhaniaiis  would  attack  and  kill  them 
if  they  slept  outside.  \alnnill\  tli<>y  accejjted  the  invitation 
which  indeed  nni>l  have  l»-en  welcome  on  other  ^ToiUMb.  Sln.rtly 
after,  the  lii-lioj)  in\  it<(l  them  to  (hue  u  ith  him  and  soenjoyahle 
dill    till-  ()cc;iNi(.n    pro\-e   that    he   fnitlKi-  a■^l^<<l    them    t..  «|.)   the 

(I.-) 


CHARLES  ROBERT  CROSS,  Jr. 

same  habitually  while  they  were  there,  which  they  did.  I  further 
judge  that  the  Bishop  was  pleased  with  them  personally  as 
among  the  very  few  films  which  came  home  with  Robert's  effects 
there  were  several  of  the  Bishop  who  had  evidently  "stood  for 
his  picture"  arrayed  in  his  robes  of  office. 

Of  all  the  Serbian  experience  Cross's  father  has  written 
besides : 

It  has  been  said  of  him  by  those  associated  in  the  work  there 
that  he  was  always  cheerful,  and  when  the  supplies,  of  whose 
transportation  he  had  charge,  seemed  unreasonably  slow  in  com- 
ing was  never  disheartened  but  always  confident  that  they  would 
arrive  in  due  time,  as  they  in  fact  did,  and  this  attitude  was  a 
very  encouraging  one  to  his  comrades;  also  that  he  was  a  "tre- 
mendous" worker  at  all  times,  doing  his  utmost  to  facilitate 
matters. 

He  lamented  in  one  of  his  letters  his  inability  to  speak 
Serbian,  but  it  illustrates  his  desire  to  "facilitate  matters" 
that  among  his  belongings  there  was  afterwards  found  a 
Serbian  phrase-book,  from  which  he  had  doubtless  been 
trying  to  win  some  use  of  the  language. 

Cross  paid  his  first  visit  to  Greece  on  his  way  back  to 
Paris,  where  again  he  plunged  into  the  labors  of  the  Ameri- 
can Distributing  Service,  dividing  his  long  days  between 
work  in  the  warehouse  and  on  the  road.  Devoted  as  he  was 
to  this  Service  and  to  his  companions  in  it,  the  distress  of 
seeing  so  much  suffering  which  he  could  not  help  and  the 
desire  for  more  active  employment  in  the  open  had  begun 
to  turn  his  thoughts  strongly  to  aviation.  Dis  aliter  visum. 

The  story  of  the  accident  which  cut  short  his  life  is  told  in 
his  father's  narrative.  His  companion  at  the  time,  Russell 
H.Greeley  (Harvard  '01), director  of  the  American  Distrib- 

66 


CHARLES  ROHERT  CROSS.  Jr. 

utiiig Service, completely  recoveretl  from  iii>  serious  injury, 
and  during  his  convalescence  received  the  Cross  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor  with  the  thanks  of  the  French  (iovern- 
ment  for  the  noble  humanitarian  work  which  he  and  many 
of  his  countrymen  had  done  since  the  beginning  of  the  war. 
riius  writes  Professor  Cross: 

On  October  4,  1!)1.5,  with  Russell  (ireeiey  lie  left  SI.  Hrieue, 
wliere  they  had  s|>ent  the  previous  uiirht,  with  a  li,i,'ht  Ford  auto- 
mobile to  finish  an  insjieetion  tour  of  the  hosj)itals  in  that  region- 
Late  in  the  afternoon,  as  they  were  entering  tiie  little  village  of 
Ploubalay,  a  j>easant  woman  appeared  driviufj  a  few  cows  one  of 
which  became  frightened  at  the  sound  of  the  motor.  The  sheep- 
dog in  chasing  the  cow  ran  directly  in  front  of  the  auto  w  Inch  was 
driven  l)y  Robert.  Every  effort  on  his  part  to  steer  the  auto  so 
that  the  dog  might  pass  between  the  wheels  failed  and  it  went 
under  a  front  wheel.  The  machine  swerved  toward  the  left,  "the 
right  front  wheel  struck  a  pile  of  broken  stones  by  the  left  side  of 
the  road  while  the  left  fore  wheel  went  into  the  roadside  ditch 
and  struck  its  side.  .  .  .  The  ear  was  thrown  into  the  air  and  it 
turned  completely  over  backwards  falling  with  the  wheels  in  the 
air  and  turned  in  the  opposite  direction  from  that  in  which  it  had 
\ieen  runninfi." 

(ireeley  was  thrown  free  from  the  car,  ))ut  l^obert  was  pinned 
down.  Jioth  were  .seriously  injured,  the  former  with  a  linikcii 
pelvis,  the  latter  with  an  injury  to  the  spine  such  that  he  was 
paralyzed  from  the  armpits  down.  It  appeared  later  that  the 
fourth,  fifth,  and  si.xth  vertebrae  were  ab.solutely  cruslMMJ. 
Robert  fully  ajjpreciated  the  nuignitude  of  his  injury  at  the  liiiir 
and  told  (ireeley  upon  I  heir  being  rescued  thai  he  knew  hi-'  neck 
wa>  broken  bnl   tlial  lie  nii;,'lil  li\'<'  fur  some  lime. 

At  Crccley's  rc(|Uc>t  t  lie  t  wo  \-ict  Ini->  of  t  lii>  disa-^lcr  were 
lj(  )nH-  to  the  l-'n-ncli  Mililar.x'  ^(»-^|)ilal  NO.  (i  t  at  I  )iiia  rd,  a 
few  kilometers  <liN|;int .    I  leie  t  hey  w  ere  Ixiili  known  in  |»cr- 

(J7 


CHARLES  ROBERT  CROSS,  Jr. 

son  through  their  work  in  the  American  Distributing  Ser- 
vice; indeed  the  very  suppHes  which  they  had  deHvered 
were  drawn  upon  for  their  comfort.  The  action  of  the  me- 
decin  chef  in  receiving  civilians  into  a  mihtary  hospital  was 
at  once  confirmed  by  his  superiors,  and  directions  were 
issued  that  they  should  be  officially  treated  as  "officers 
wounded  in  service."  Mrs.  Bliss  and  other  members  of  the 
Service  made  all  haste  to  Dinard.  When  they  entered  the 
hospital  room  where  the  two  men  lay,  Cross,  though  know- 
ing well  the  seriousness  of  his  injury,  exclaimed,  "Well, 
we're  all  right  —  no  one  is  going  to  die  in  this  room."  Dr. 
Pierre  Duval,  a  Paris  diagnostician  and  surgeon  of  the 
highest  skill,  was  immediately  called  in.  An  X-ray  exami- 
nation showed  that  a  dangerous  operation  offered  the  only 
hope  of  life.  To  this,  with  a  full  knowledge  of  all  the  possi- 
bilities involved,  Cross  decided  to  submit,  asking  only  that 
the  news  of  the  accident  should  not  be  cabled  to  his  father 
until  after  the  operation.  In  its  direct  results  it  proved  suc- 
cessful. For  two  days  his  condition  steadily  improved. 
Then  there  was  a  sudden  loss  of  strength,  and  on  Friday 
evening,  October  8,  1915,  in  spite  of  the  best  care  which 
skill  and  devotion  could  supply,  he  died.  The  courage  of 
his  bearing  through  all  the  ordeal  of  these  final  days,  his 
serenity,  humor,  consideration  for  others,  impressed  pro- 
foundly both  the  friends  and  the  strangers  amongst  whom 
Robert  Cross  came  to  his  untimelv  end.  It  chanced  to  be 
the  birthday  of  one  of  these,  who  turned  to  another,  and 
said:  "No  birthday  gift  could  be  more  splendid  than  to 
have  brought  into  one's  life  so  wonderful  an  example  of 
courage  and  manhood." 


68 


CHARLES  ROBERT  CROSS,  Jr. 

A  funeral  .service,  attemled  by  clistinguislied  representa- 
tives of  the  French  (iovernnient.  and  of  several  hospitals 
and  other  agencies  of  mercy,  was  held  in  the  American 
Episcopal  Church  in  Paris  on  October  'i'i.  Burial  was  made 
later  at  Xewburyport,  the  home  of  the  family  for  many 
generations.  No  momnnent  or  tril)ute  can  so  fitly  com- 
memorate him  as  a  dominating,  glacier-clad  peak  in  an  un- 
broken wilderness,  a  region  of  lakes  in  the  Canadian  Rock- 
ies, about  seventy-five  miles  north  of  the  nearest  point  on 
the  Grand  Trunk  Pacific  Railway.  To  this  mountain  the 
C»eograi)hic  Board  of  Canada  has  given  the  name  of  Mount 
Cross. 


ARCHIBALD  HAMILTON  RAMSAY 


Class  of  1907 


-DoRN  in  Montreal,  May  31,  1884,  Archibald  Hamilton 
Ramsay  was  a  son  of  the  late  Robert  Anstruther  Ramsay, 
Q.C.,  of  Montreal,  and  Catherine  Hamilton  (Duff)  Ram- 
say. He  was  a  member  of  Harvard  College  only  through 
the  freshman  year  of  the  Class  of  1907.  His  preparation  for 
college  was  made  at  Highbury  House,  England,  and  for  the 
last  two  years  of  schooling  at  the  Newton  High  School.  At 
this  time,  his  family  having  left  Montreal  about  1900,  and 
his  parents  having  died,  he  was  living  with  his  brothers  and 
sister  at  Wellesley  Hills,  near  Boston.  A  classmate  at 
Newton  and  at  Harvard,  where  he  was  also  a  roommate, 
writes  of  his  unusually  bright  mind,  especially  for  mathe- 
matics and  the  classical  languages,  and  also  of  a  happy-go- 
lucky,  somewhat  irresponsible  quality  which  kept  him  from 

70 


ARCHIBALD    IIAMII.TOX    RAMSAY 

inucli  eti'ort  in  his  (•t)llci,^'  rt)urM'>.  I(  \\a>  the  k'.s>  lU't'ded 
because  from  tlie  first  lie  piirposi'd  spt'iuliii^  merely  a  year 
at  Harvard  in  j)reparati()ii  for  the  study  of  science  at  the 
En^dish  ('aml)riil^e.  Tiiis  j)ian  lie  carried  out,  and  \va>  a 
member  of  Peml)roke  Colk'^e  fioni  WHV.]  to  l!)()7.  Ilis  Har- 
vard friends  and  chissmates  remembered  him  well  as  a  keen 
sportsman,  interested  especially  in  shootin^^  attractixc  in 
personality,  and  ^nfted  with  more  than  ct)nim()n  abilities. 
"I  can  best  illustrate  his  unusual  brightness,"  says  the 
friend  already  (juoted.  "  by  citiiiu' the  fact  that  when  wcall 
gathered  in  Cambridge  for  Entrance  E\aniiuatioii>.  lie  was 
pretty  uvwr  the  first  man  to  finish  his  j)a|)er  in  each  >iibject 
and  leave  the  examination,  takin<i'  perhaps  only  half  the 
full  time  allowed,  and  yet  obtaining  excellent  marks." 

After  leaving  Pembroke  College  I^amsay  travelled  for  a 
year  in  Euroi)e,  and  then  for  a  year  (U)08-()}))  was  secre- 
tary to  an  official  writer.  From  190!)  till  the  outbreak  of 
the  war  he  hA"ed  in  Paris.  enii)loyed  for  the  first  two  yeai> 
ij\'  the  A\  estinghouse  Company  in  a  capacity  pai-tly  techni- 
cal, partly  commercial,  and  from  1!)1  1  till  August.  1!)11',  as 
an  exchange  specialist  in  an  Anglo-French  bank  dealing 
with  South  America.  During  these  years  in  Paris  Ramsay 
became  a  well-known  figure  in  business,  social.  an<l  athletic 
circles.  His  athletic  interest  at  this  time  was  concenicd 
<hiefly  with  boxing.  A  symj)athetic  writer  in  the  English 
periodical,  lio.viinj,  has  described  Ramsay's  fait  hi  i;  I  at- 
tendance on  "big  fight  mghls,"  his  own  ambition  t(»  win 
the  l-'rcnch  amateur  chanipionship  in  the  ring,  and  t  he  part 
he  burr  in  the  f(trination  of  a  clui)  designed  l<»  stand  in 
Pan's  f(ir  what  the  National  Sporlin::  (liili  represented  in 
London. 

71 


ARCHIBALD  HAMILTON  RAMSAY 

Thirty  and  unmarried  when  the  war  broke  out,  he  was 
obviously  of  the  type  to  which  the  Foreign  Legion  would 
appeal;  and  in  this  command  he  enlisted  as  a  private, 
August  12,  1914,  His  knowledge  of  languages  caused  him 
to  be  detached  for  special  duty  as  chauffeur  and  interpreter 
with  the  British  and  French  liaison  staff  —  a  service  which 
he  performed  so  well  that  his  requests  to  be  transferred  to 
the  fighting  forces  were  refused.  Thus  he  remained  with 
the  Legion  until  the  spring  of  1915.  When  it  became  possi- 
ble for  British-born  members  of  the  Legion  to  be  trans- 
ferred to  Kitchener's  Army,  Ramsay  at  once  availed  of  this 
opportunity,  in  April  secured  his  release,  and  in  June  was 
commissioned  second  lieutenant  in  the  Oxfordshire  and 
Buckinghamshire  Light  Infantry.  Here  again  his  special 
aptitudes  involved  him  in  special  duties,  and  he  was  made 
an  instructor  in  physical  culture  and  bombing.  Here  again 
he  asked  for  more  dangerous  duty,  and,  foregoing  a  pro- 
motion within  reach,  was  sent  to  the  front.  He  joined  his 
battalion  September  25,  and  on  October  13,  1915,  was 
killed  in  action  while  leading  a  forlorn  hope  bomb  attack  on 
the  Hohenzollern  Redoubt  at  Loos.  It  was  for  bombing 
that  he  volunteered,  when  it  was  known  that  a  grenade  offi- 
cer's life  at  the  front  was  estimated  at  a  duration  of  seven 
days.  In  the  party  of  twenty-five  of  which  he  was  the 
leader  on  the  day  of  his  death,  only  five  returned.  Ramsay 
was  one  of  the  first  to  fall.  His  body  was  not  recovered.  A 
tablet  in  the  British  Embassy  Church  at  Paris  commemo- 
rates him. 


GEORGE  STETSON  TAVLOK 


Class  oi     1!H)S 


ijrrjync.K  Stktsov  'I'ayi.oh  w.ms  one  of  llu-  Amcn"<;ms 
wlio.  in  tlic  carliot  (l;iys  of  llic  \\;if.  fell  tli.it  he  iiiii>l  l;iki' 
his  pjiit  in  it,  ;it  !ca>t  in  liclpin^'  to  rciicxc  the  Nuffcrin^rs  of 
the  combatants.  'J  Im-  "ciithusiasni  and  cncr^'v  wlnCh  the 
secretary  of  Ins  class  lia->  notcil  a•^  hi^dilv  cliaiactcri^t  ic  ol 
liini  in  collrgc  were  ilhist  rated  in  t  lie  second  month  ol  t  he 

7.*} 


GEORGE  STETSON  TAYLOR 

war,  when  he  dropped  the  business  in  which  he  had  estab- 
hshed  himself,  sailed  for  England,  and  sought  to  make 
himself  useful. 

He  was  born  in  Orange,  New  Jersey,  May  22,  1886.  His 
parents  were  Thomas  Fenton  Taylor,  of  New  York,  a  grad- 
uate of  Harvard  in  the  Class  of  1875,  and  Mary  (Stetson) 
Taylor,  originally  of  Bangor,  Maine.  His  brother,  Dr. 
Fenton  Taylor,  of  New  Y'ork,  graduated  at  Harvard  Col- 
lege in  1909.  His  own  record,  in  school,  college,  and  the 
larger  world,  as  provided  for  the  purposes  of  these  memoirs 
is  as  follows: 

His  preparation  for  college  was  made  at  the  Newark 
Academy,  Newark,  New  Jersey,  from  which  he  graduated 
in  1903.  He  took  his  part  in  sports  from  an  early  age,  and 
for  several  vears  was  a  member  of  the  school  track,  base- 
ball,  football,  basketball,  and  gymnastic  teams. 

He  entered  college  in  the  fall  of  1903  and  graduated  in 
1908.  His  athletic  activities  in  college  were  numerous.  He 
played  on  his  class  football  and  tennis  teams,  and  in  his 
senior  year  was  substitute  quarterback  on  the  varsity 
football  team  until  serious  internal  injuries  withdrew  him 
from  the  game.  He  was  a  member  of  the  D.K.E.,  Institute 
of  1770,  Hasty  Pudding,  and  Phoenix  Clubs. 

On  leaving  college  his  desire  for  active  outdoor  work 
caused  him  to  enter  the  field  of  contracting.  He  was  asso- 
ciated first  with  the  O'Rourke  Engineering  Construction 
Company,  working  as  a  pipe-fitter  on  the  Knickerbocker 
Trust  Company's  building  in  New  Y'ork;  then  with  the 
Thomas  Crimmins  Contracting  Company;  but  longest 
with  the  T.  A.  Gillespie  Company,  all  of  New  York.  While 
with  the  second  of  these  firms  he  spent  much  time  on  the 

74 


(.EORCK    STirrsON     I  AYI.OK 

reconstruction  of  the  l);iri,H'  canal  lu-ar  Koclu-stcr,  \r\v 
\ork,  wlierc  lie  made  many  friemls  wlio  came  into  his  life 
later.  In  the  fall  of  IJ)!.').  he  estahlished  his  own  coiitract- 
infj  comi)any,  Taylor.  Phillij)l)ro\\  ii  and  ( 'ompaiiy. 

AMien  war  hroke  out  in  Kuroj)c.  he  decided  that  indi- 
vitluals.  if  not  the  whole  ct)untry.  should  he  represented  in 
the  world's  work.  'I'hus  it  was  that  as  early  as  Septemher 
of  l!n4  he  cro.ssed  to  En<i:land  and  otlVretl  his  services  to 
the  British  }\vd  Cross.  This  ()r<,'ani/,ation,  throu<i:h  Sir 
(Gregory  Jones,  sent  him  with  Mrs.  (iaidner  Bart  let!  to 
Diepi)e  where  he  hel|)cd  to  organi/e  the  Ilopitdl  AikjIo- 
Franrdisc  Xo.  oT  J.  which  had  already  heen  started.  To 
this  hospital  the  French  government  offered  a  monastery 
at  Yvetot,  if  the  organization  at  Diejipe  could  he  extended. 
Since  the  authorities  at  Xo.  ST  A  felt  that  they  could  not 
do  this  without  help.  Taylor  was  .sent  to  America  early  in 
December,  1914.  to  .secure  American  aid. 

At  Rochester  he  secured  the  services  of  Dr.  Ralph  R. 
Fitch  (Harvard,  M.D.,  '03)  and  his  wil'c.  There  and  in 
New  ^  ork  he  organized  conunittees.  Messrs.  O'Domiell 
Iseliu  'Harvard.  '07)  and  Adrian  T^(nine  in  Rochester 
and  Lawrence  K.  Reck  (Harvard,  '04)  in  New  \\)\k  joined 
in  this  work.  The  American  l{ed  Cross  furnished  ntu'ses 
and  surgical  supplies. 

Returning  to  France  Taylor  helped  to  rccouslrncl  the 
monastei-y  at  ^  \"etol  into  a  sanitary.  np-to-(lale  hospital, 
known  oflicially  as  the  /Injiihil  <lr  r .tlli(uici\  //npthi/  .in.r- 
/lidiff  (hi  Tcrriloirf  Xo.  )  I  his.  with  acconmiodal  ions  lor 
.>ix  hundred  patients.  Its  jx-rsonnel  and  fnnds  were  hall 
Knglisji  and  hall'  American,  ^^'llen  the  orgaiii/.al  ion  was 
COIU|)leled  'Ja\lor  was  \\\:\(\r  ml  iii  i  ii  isl  ralriir  (jiin  rtil . 


GEORGE  STETSON  TAYLOR 

The  hospital  had  good  rail  and  water  connections  with 
the  war  zone,  and  soon  acquired  a  standing  with  the  French 
authorities  which  led  to  its  constant  use  for  seriously 
wounded  cases. 

Taylor  had  a  difficult  position  to  fill  because  of  the  di- 
verse interests  and  methods  of  the  French,  English,  and 
Americans  with  whom  he  had  to  deal.  To  his  tact  and  de- 
votion the  efficiency  of  the  hospital  was  in  large  measure 
due.  Towards  the  close  of  the  summer  of  1915  it  was  de- 
cided to  separate  the  American  and  English  elements  into 
two  separate  hospitals.  Before  the  time  came  for  engaging 
in  this  new  work  Taylor  crossed  to  England  and  married 
Hilda  Dancocks,  of  London,  who  had  been  associated  with 
the  hospital  at  Yvetot.  Shortly  after  his  marriage,  which 
occurred  September  30,  he  developed  mastoiditis,  and  died 
at  St.  Thomas'  Hospital,  London,  on  October  19,  1915. 

Throughout  his  short  life  Taylor  displayed,  among  his 
chief  characteristics,  a  great  fund  of  energy,  common  sense, 
and  good  fellowship.  This  was  shown  both  through  what 
he  accomplished,  and  in  the  host  of  sincere  friends  he  had 
made  for  himself. 

One  of  these,  a  matron  in  the  hospital  at  Yvetot  wrote  on 
hearing  of  his  death:  "I  never  encountered  such  a  delight- 
fully clean,  healthy  mind;  his  judgment  of  people  and  situ- 
ations was  remarkable."  Another  fellow- worker  at  YVetot 
gave  fuller  expression  to  the  memory  he  left  behind  him: 
"He  endeared  himself  to  everyone  at  the  Hospital  which 
he  certainly  loved  and  worked  for  more  faithfully  than 
anyone  else  there.  He  never  deemed  any  self-sacrifice  too 
great,  so  long  as  it  might  advance  the  good  work  of  the  in- 
stitution.    He  was   always  good-tempered,   and   usually 

76 


(.k()R(;k  stetson    iayi.ok 

hap])y.  ill  sj)ito  of  a  mult  itiule  of  won-io;  aiul  it  \\a>  a  joy 
to  sec  him  \\t)rk  out  his  ideals  with  a  urim  (K-tcrmiiiat ioii. 
?nd  a  spleudicl  steadfastness,  to  tlicir  logical  coiu  lii>ioii. 
The  s])leiuh(l  work,  in  this  way.  which  he  iWd  in  tlioc  tcrfi- 
l)k'  times,  iu  the  eause  of  liuman  sutferin<;.  will  always  hi' 
remembered  hy  us.  who  esteemed  it  a  j)ii\"ilt'tic  to  woi'k 
witli  liim." 


ALLEN  MACKENZIE  CLEGHORN 


Instructor 


Ur.  Cleghorn  was  a  Veterinary  School  Instructor  in 
Comparative  Physiology  at  Harvard  in  1899-1900,  and 
Instructor  in  Physiology  in  the  ensuing  year.  He  was  born 
in  London,  Ontario,  in  1872,  of  Huguenot,  Scotch,  Irish, 
and  English  ancestry,  the  son  of  Andrew  Cleghorn.  His 
father's  death  preceded  his  own.  His  mother,  his  wife, 
Edna  (Gartshore)  Cleghorn,  and  their  two  children  sur- 
vived him. 

After  studying  as  a  boy  at  Trinity  College  School,  Port 
Hope,  Ontario,  he  attended  the  University  of  Toronto, 
where  he  received  the  degree  of  M.D.  in  1892.  A  term  of 
clinical  work  as  medical  superintendent  of  the  Toronto 

78 


AT.LKX    ^FACKEXZIE    (M.ECUIORX 

Homo  for  Incurahlos  was  followed  !>>•  \hc  contimiancc  of 
his  nuMhVal  stiuHes  in  London.  Kdinhur^h.  and  (das<jow. 

AYhon  he  came  to  Harvard  in  1S9J),  it  was  with  a  i)ac-k- 
ground  unlike  tliat  of  his  collea^nies.  A  student  who  has 
since  become  a  professor  in  the  Medical  School  recalls  liim 
in  the  following  terms:  **He  was  a  handsome,  dark-haired 
man  of  athletic  appearance.  Experience  in  Canadian  and 
English  medical  schools  had  given  him  a  wide  a((|uaint- 
ance  with  men  of  liis  i)rofession.  He  had  also  served  as  a 
sliip  i)hysician  on  liners  running  to  the  South  Paeihc  His 
wide  e\perienc(>  with  people  of  all  types  and  a  rathei-  happy 
memory  for  anmsing  situations  made  him  a  very  agreeable 
comi)anion,  es])ecially  when  stories  were  being  swapped." 

Between  ISDS  and  lOOl  he  contributed  a  number  of 
papers  on  physiological  topics  to  the  American  Journal  of 
P}njsiol()(nj.  and  one  to  the  Journal  of  ihe  Bosion  Sociefy  of 
Medical  Science.  As  a  teacher  he  was  regarded  as  "clear, 
pointed,  selective,  and  sympathetic,"  and  liis  friendships 
among  students  and  colleagues  were  many  and  geimine. 

After  two  years  at  the  Medical  School  he  took  up  Ihe 
practice  of  his  profession  in  Cambridge.  I'hen  lii^  htallh 
became  impaired,  and  in  the  hoi)e  of  restoring  it  he  re- 
tuiiird  to  Canada,  where  he  spent  niucli  time  at  Algon(iuin 
Park,  Ontario,  fighting  off  tuberculosis.  At  the  same  time 
he  in\<'stigate(l  the  hal)its  of  the  wild  ci-eatures  who  were 
yielding  j)la(<"  to  cixilization.  and  recorded  obsci-\  ;it  ions, 
especiall\'  on  liil«Tnation.  w  hicli  liaxc  since  been  published. 
Tn  this  period  aNo  he  prepared  a  manuscript  on  racial  ex'o- 
lutioii  and  eugenics. 

\\  lieu  the  war  c;inic  he  ruade  re|)ealed  -nlicitat  idiis  for 
accept  ;i  uce  liv  the  |{(»yal  A  rr  uy  Mecjic.il  (  drps.     in  I  )eceUl- 


ALLEN  MACKENZIE  CLEGHORN 

ber,  1915,  his  health  was  considered  adequate  for  field  ser- 
vice, and  he  sailed  for  England.  While  awaiting  orders  to 
go  to  the  front,  with  a  captain's  commission,  he  con- 
tracted broncho-pneumonia,  and  died  March  22,  1916,  in 
the  Military  Hospital  at  Bramshott,  Hampshire.  He  was 
buried  at  Borden  with  military  honors. 


CROSBY   CIirUCH   WHITMAN 


Class  of  1880 


1mmp:diately  upon  the  deatli  of  Crosby  Cliurcli  AVIiil- 
inan,  in  Paris,  on  March  28,  191(1,  anotlicr  grachiatc  of 
Harvard,  AVilliani  T.  Canii)l)t'll,  of  the  (Mass  of  1875,  like 
^^)litIHan  a  resident  of  l^iris,  hut  in  earh'er  years  a  teacher 
of  iii;it liciiialics  in  the  Adams  Academy  at  (^uiiicy.  wlicii' 
\\  hit  man  had  prepared  for  coHege,  wrote  a  memoir  of  liini 
wliich  tells  the  essential  story  of  his  life  and  work.  It  is 
given  h('r<'\\  itli : 

Dr.  ('n)>h\-  ( 'liiinli  Whit  man.  nf  t  lie  ( 'la^- of  jSSd,  \\a>  l>i>iii 
ill  IJciiicia,  ( 'alifornia,  March  v.'.'!.  IS(I.'!,  ;iml  (hcd  in  l*;iti^,  l-'rancc. 
.March  '■^H,  liHd.  lie  ua-<  I  he  son  ofjiid^'c  McriianI  Cnohy  \\\i\[- 
Mian  and  M.ii  \  lOii/alx-lh  (Chnrcli  i  \N  liil  ni.in.  I  lis  fa  I  Iht,  of  the 
IIar\  ar<l  (  'l.i>^  of  IS  Ki,  was  .i  well  know  n  al  lonicy -al -law  in  San 

Si 


CROSBY   CHURCH   WHITMAN 

Francisco,  and  later  became  Judge  of  the  Supreme  Court  of 
Nevada. 

Dr.  Whitman  prepared  for  college  at  Adams  Academy,  Quincy, 
Massachusetts,  where  he  was  a  great  favorite  with  both  masters 
and  schoolmates.  The  late  Dr.  William  Everett,  headmaster  of 
the  Academy,  cherished  a  particular  regard  for  him,  and  never 
failed  afterwards  when  visiting  Europe  to  go  out  of  his  way  to 
call  on  him.  Every  teacher  knows  that  it  is  one  thing  for  a  boy 
to  do  well  what  he  likes  to  do,  and  quite  a  different  thing  if  a 
subject  is  not  to  his  taste ;  for  then  success  depends  on  character. 
Dr.  Whitman  was  a  case  in  point.  He  did  so  well  in  mathematics 
that  his  teacher,  knowing  that  he  came  from  a  section  of  the 
country  where  science  would  be  in  special  demand,  supposed  he 
was  preparing  to  follow  some  branch  of  engineering;  it  was  only 
after  entering  college  that  he  said  he  had  no  taste  for  mathe- 
matics and  had  never  thought  of  taking  up  a  profession  where 
they  would  be  the  foundation. 

In  college  his  relaxation  was  in  music.  He  was  a  very  good 
pianist  and  his  services  were  in  constant  demand  for  the  musical 
entertainments  of  the  societies  to  which  he  belonged.  Early  in 
the  course  he  was  chosen  pianist  for  the  Pierian  Sodality,  of 
which  later  he  became  secretary.  He  was  a  member  of  the 
D.K.E.,  librarian  of  the  Institute  of  1770,  and  president  and 
musical  director  of  the  Hasty  Pudding  Club.  He  was  graduated 
at  Harvard  with  the  degree  of  A.B.,  but  his  medical  education 
was  acquired  in  Paris  where  he  was  admitted  to  the  Doctoral 
en  Medecine. 

After  an  interval  of  experience  in  New  York,  returning  to 
Paris,  Dr.  Whitman  began  his  life  work  of  private  practice  and 
of  public  services  of  various  kinds  originating  in  the  American 
Hospital  at  Neuilly,  of  which  he  was  one  of  the  founders.  He 
was  occupied  in  this  way  when  the  war  broke  out.  On  the  ap- 
proach of  the  Germans  he  made  it  his  first  duty  to  secure  the 
safety  of  his  patients.  He  was  then  invited  by  Mr.  James  H. 
Hyde,  of  the  Harvard  Class  of  1898,  to  organize  an  ambulance 


82 


(  ROSBY    CHURCH    WHITMAX 

in  his  residence,  to  be  placed  under  the  fla^  of  the  Croix  Rouge 
Frangaii>e.  He  took  up  tliis  work  with  enthusiasm,  and  was  ap- 
pointed medec'm  chef  hy  the  Minister  of  War;  all  was  ready  when 
the  wounded  arrived  from  the  Battle  of  the  Marne. 

With  unfailin^f  courtesy  to  all  whom  he  met,  and  the  many 
([ualities  which  have  endeared  him  to  his  friends,  he  devoted  him- 
self to  his  new  duties,  soothinj;  sufferers  In*  words  as  well  as  hy 
professional  skill,  encourafjing  the  despondent,  and  frecjuently 
providing;  at  his  personal  expense  the  best  apparatus  for  unfortu- 
nate amjnitated  men  when  the  time  came  for  them  to  leave  the 
ambulance.  In  the  multiplicity  of  details,  many  annoyances 
were  inevitable;  but  he  always  kept  his  cheerful  serenity;  it  was 
said  that  a  mere  glance  at  his  countenance  was  enough  to  make 
a  wounded  man  feel  sure  that  he  was  on  the  road  to  recovery. 

Some  months  afterwards,  when  Mr.  James  Stillman  j)laced  his 
residence  at  tiie  disj)ositi()n  of  the  Hopital  Militaire  (lit  ]'al-de- 
Grace,  Dr.  Whitman  organized  this  ambulance,  also,  and  was  ap- 
I)()inted  mcdecin  chef  l)y  the  medical  director  of  Val-de-Grace,  re- 
taining his  former  duties  and  having  the  additional  responsil)ility 
that  the  new  ambulance  was  reserved  for  officers,  some  of  high 
rank.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  care  of  two  ambulances  was  a 
serious  strain;  besides  this  he  was  on  the  staff  of  the  Franco- 
Beige  Dispensary  for  the  relief  of  refugees  from  the  war  zone,  and 
he  visited  nearlv  everv  dav  an  ambulance  established  in  the  Ecole 
Polytechnique;  but  he  was  so  hai)j)y  and  successful  in  flic  work 
that  he  felt  no  fatigue. 

It  was  during  January,  1!)1(),  on  the  first  relaxation  of  pressure 
in  the  ambulances  of  Paris,  that  he  felt  the  magnitude  of  Iiis 
effort.  Oil  tlie  ad\iee  of  liis  associates  lie  iiiterrtijjted  his  work,  as 
he  suj)i>osed,  for  a  few  days;  but  his  liealtli  failed  rapidly.  \\v 
pa.s.sed  away  in  his  sleep,  at  his  own  residence  in  Paris,  in  the 
presence  of  lii-  iintther,  the  household,  and  th<'  attending  |>li\  - 
sicians. 

'riiroughoiit  the  war  his  ashes  remaim-d  in  a  chapel  in  I'aris. 
w  hence  his  inut  her  pia  n  lied  to  t  ransfer  t  Iiciii  to  (  'alifoiiiia.     I  lu-y 

88 


CROSBY   CHURCH   WHITMAN 

have  been  buried,  instead,  in  the  Suresnes  Cemetery,  a  plot  of 
ground  in  Paris  given  by  the  French  Government  for  the  burial 
of  American  officers  and  men,  fallen  in  the  war. 

His  patients  in  the  ambulances  came  from  all  classes  and  all 
branches  of  the  service.  Letters  received  from  men  who  returned 
to  the  front  or  to  their  homes  breathe  affection  and  gratitude. 
One  cannot  say  which  class  was  the  most  impressed  with  his  per- 
sonality —  the  Algerian  tirailleurs,  the  French  soldiers,  or  the 
officers  of  high  rank. 

He  was  a  dutiful  son,  a  loyal  friend,  and  a  devoted  physician. 

To  this  narrative  and  estimate  a  few  facts,  drawn  chiefly 
from  Reports  of  the  Class  of  1886,  should  be  added.  On 
graduating  at  Harvard  College,  Whitman's  first  plan  was 
to  study  law,  and  his  name  appears  on  the  roll  of  the  Har- 
vard Law  School  for  the  year  of  1886-87.  But  his  real  oc- 
cupation from  1886  to  1895,  according  to  his  own  record 
of  his  life,  was  the  study  of  medicine  in  France  and  Ger- 
many. Much  travel,  in  all  parts  of  Europe,  fell  also  within 
these  years.  In  1894  he  took  his  medical  degree  at  the  Uni- 
versity of  Paris,  and  in  1895  returned  to  the  United  States. 
For  two  years,  until  1897,  he  served  as  first  assistant  to 
Dr.  Osier  at  Johns  Hopkins  University.  In  1898  he  took 
up  private  practice  in  New  York.  His  health  then  failed 
him,  and  in  1901  he  wrote  in  a  Class  Report:  "I  should  like 
to  have  a  word  with  all  those  who  smile  and  say  neuras- 
thenia doesn't  amount  to  much."  In  1901  he  went  to  Paris 
and  became  medical  director  in  charge  of  the  Paris  office  of 
the  Equitable  Life  Insurance  Company,  besides  engaging 
in  private  practice.  In  1908  he  was  appointed  physician  to 
the  New  American  Hospital  of  Paris  in  Neuilly. 

Of  the  place  he  made  for  himself  in  Paris,  his  friend 
Henry  W.  Hardon,  of  New  York,  of  the  Harvard  Class  of 

84 


CROSBY    rni'RC  II    WHITMAN 

188'2,  wrote  soon  after  his  death:  "His  uiieoinnionly  at- 
tractive ])ersonal  quahties  iiiacK'  friends  of  all  his  ac<|Uaint- 
aiices.  His  unusual  skill  met  with  ready  recognition.  He 
had  speedily  a  position  really  uniciue  in  Pari<,  where  iiis 
services  were  demanded  !>>  Frenchmen  as  well  as  hy 
foreigners.  In  the  American  eonnnunity  he  had  aciinired 
an  influential  position."  ^ 

This  friend  wrote  further  of  Whitman:  "About  a  year 
ago  I  made  the  roumls  of  his  hospital  with  him.  'Courage, 
mon  ami  I  (^a  va  deja  mieux.  Encore  un  pen  tie  temps  et 
vous  verrez.  TenezI  Y-a-t-il  quelque  chose  ((ue  vons 
voulez.^  J'ai  ecrit  a  votre  mere.  Elle  va  veiiir."  'Merci, 
docteur ;  rien  pour  le  moment.    Mais  que  vous  etes  bon ! ' 

"'(^ue  vous  etes  bon!  —  AVho  can  say  that  Whitman,  '86, 
has  missed  a  career  of  great  distinction.^" 

1  See  Harvard  Alumni  Bulletin,  May  17,  191G. 


MERRILL  STANTON  GAUNT 


Andover  1914-16 


M.ERRILL  Stanton  Gaunt  was  a  graduate  of  Amherst, 
in  the  class  of  1914,  who  came  to  Harvard  in  the  autumn  of 
that  year  to  study  for  the  ministry  at  the  Andover  Theo- 
logical Seminary.  After  the  mid-year  examinations  in  the 
winter  of  1916,  he  sailed,  February  16,  for  France  to  enter 
the  ambulance  service.  He  was  sent  immediately  to  the 
Verdun  front  with  Section  5  of  the  Norton-Harjes  Unit, 

86 


MERRILL    STANTON    (i.VlNT 

and  after  a  few  weeks  of  (lan»;eroii.s  service,  died.  Aj)ril  .'>. 
191(),  of  cerebro-spiiial  ineniiiijitis  in  li()>i)ital  at  Har-Io- 
IHic,  where  he  was  buried  with  Frrncli  military  lioiior^. 

He  was  born  in  BurrillvilKv  Rhode  Island,  July  l^i.  1S!)'2. 
the  son  of  Henry  and  Mary  L.  daunt,  ^retiuien,  Massa- 
chusetts, became  the  iiome  from  which  he  went,  in  due 
course,  to  AVorcester  Academy,  Andierst,  and  IlarNanl.  A 
schoolmate  at  ^fethuen  and  Worcester,  who  was  also  with 
him  at  Andierst,  has  described  his  most  marked  character- 
istics as  enthusiasm  and  determination.  He  was  a  hard 
worker,  rather  than  a  brilliant  student,  in  college,  accom- 
plishing what  he  set  out  to  do,  including  the  playing  of 
football  and  hockey  on  his  class  teams.  He  was  a  member 
of  the  Andierst  chapter  of  the  Chi  Psi  Fraternity.  In  the 
>ummer  of  101 -2  he  worked  his  way  to  Europe  on  a  cattle 
steamer,  and  was  influenced  toward  socialism  by  what  he 
saw  of  the  life  of  the  British  sailors.  In  the  following  sum- 
mer, in  order  to  inform  liimself  more  fully  regarding  that 
life,  he  shipped  as  a  cook  on  a  freighter  to  South  America. 
He  did  not  decide  to  enter  the  ministry  till  alter  leaving 
Andierst.  In  his  single  summer  vacation,  while  studying  at 
the  Andover  Seminary,  lie  did  missionary  work  in  South 
Dakota,  covering  four  small  towns  on  horseback.  In  term- 
time  at  Harvard  he  managed  boys'  clubs  in  Waltham  and 
Watertow  n.  and  was  in  charge  of  eleven  such  clubs  in  Rox- 
bury.  He  also  did  settlement  work  in  Boston,  and  was  a 
director  <»f  the  Alumni  Social  Scr\irc  Rnrcan  in  that  city. 
He  was  a  nicinlx-i-  of  the  ('osmo|)olilan  (  hib  ol  llar\ard, 
and  ol  the  Intcr'iiat ional  Socialist  (Inb. 

The  school  and  college  friend  ah-eady  cited  sailed  with 
him  as  a  steerage  passenger  on    tin-   .\(ln(ilii\  a  lew   days 

S7 


MERRILL   STANTON   GAUNT 

after  the  group  of  Harvard  and  other  vokmteers  for  the 
ambulance  service  which  they  were  to  join  sailed  on  a 
steamer  of  the  French  line.  This  friend  relates  that  among 
the  steerage  passengers  were  many  families  of  Canadian 
soldiers  going  to  Europe  to  be  near  their  men  on  leave,  and 
that  Gaunt  made  friends  with  many  of  them,  whose  pas- 
sage he  cheered  by  playing  the  piano  and  in  other  ways.  He 
made  also  an  enemy  of  the  purser  of  the  ship  by  opening 
the  port-hole  in  his  stateroom,  when  the  officers  would  not 
open  the  ventilators.  This  brought  him  and  his  comrade 
under  suspicion  as  spies,  with  the  result  that  they  had  to 
report  at  Scotland  Yard  on  every  day  of  their  stay  in  Lon- 
don, on  the  way  to  Paris,  pending  the  investigation  of  their 
credentials.  From  Paris  they  went  to  the  front  within  a 
few  days,  arriving  there  early  in  March,  at  the  height  of  the 
First  Battle  of  Verdun,  in  which  they  saw  immediate  and 
exhausting  service.  Gaunt  devised  a  new  way  of  hanging 
blankets  in  the  ambulance,  which  so  commended  itself  to 
his  superior  officer  that  he  insisted  upon  its  general  adop- 
tion. For  the  nature  of  the  service  in  which  Gaunt  bore  his 
brief  part  and  won  the  Croix  de  Guerre,  a  General  Order  of 
the  11th  French  Army,  signed  by  General  Petain,  April  3, 
1916,  making  the  following  citation  of  Section  5  of  the 
Norton-Harjes  Ambulance  LTnit,  speaks  with  sufficient 
clearness.    This  unit,  it  says:  ^ 

...  a  assure  pendant  une  periode  de  onze  jours  de  combat,  du 
8  au  19  mars,  avec  un  mepris  absolu  du  danger,  les  evacuations 
dans  une  zone  particulierement  battue  par  I'artillerie  ennemie. 
De  plus,  tout  son  personnel  a  fait  preuve  d'un  devouement  et 
d'une  endurance  remarquables  en  assurant,  par  un  service  nioyen 
de  19  heures  par  jour,  le  maximum  de  rendement  de  cette  unite. 

88 


MERRIT.T.    >TA\T(^X    (^VUXT 

One  of  (iaiint's  iiistriKtor>  in  tlir  Andovcr  St-niinary  has 
recalled  his  lively  interest  in  social  service,  and  has  said:  "It 
was  the  hnnunu*  rather  than  the  specuhitive  or  scholastic 
view  from  which  he  i)repared  for  the  ministry.  He  was  a 
boy  with  a  keen  sense  of  hnman  need  and  a  very  lovable 
mixture  of  scientific  and  romantic  interest  in  trying  to  help 
it."  The  priiuii)al  of  the  Worcester  Academy  durin'^ 
Gannt's  term  of  study  there.  Dr.  1).  W.  Ahercromhie,  of 
the  Harvard  Class  of  187(),has  written  of  him  more  fully, as 
follows: 

I  fomid  him  singularly  unaflfeeted  and  genuine.  There  was  a 
rare  reticence  that  marked  the  sincerity  of  his  nature,  as  if  he 
should  say  "don't  e.\j)ect  uuiny  words  from  nie,  let  what  I  am 
about  disclose  what  I  am."  And  he  was  busy  about  many  things, 
always  "consuming  his  own  smoke,"  nuiking  no  declarations, 
but  finding  his  best  self-expression  in  what  he  was  doing,  not  in 
what  he  was  saying.  There  was  a  look  of  determination  on  liis 
characterful  face  and  in  his  quiet  eyes  that  showed  the  power  to 
arrive  at  the  point  proposed. 

He  counted  f(ir  inucli  in  his  eomnnmity  by  weight  of  eliaraeter 
and  by  resoluteness  of  jnupose.  His  life  even  as  an  Aeademy 
boy  seemed  an  ordered  life  in  its  aims  and  in  its  methods  as  w(>ll. 
He  had  no  thought  for  himself,  and.  apparently  was  clear  in  liis 
mind  of  tlic  ways  aiui  means  hy  wliidi  liis  jjiirposcs  were  to  he 
achieved. 

He  liad  a  real  interest  in  the  school,  in  its  student  acti\  ities,  as 
\\('\\  as  in  his  studies.  Weighing  less  than  the  average  fellow  who 
tried  for  the  football  team,  he  was  \-er\'  regular  and  faithful  in 
being  on  the  field  in  lii'^  siijl  rea<ly  and  ea^er  to  go  where  sent. 
He  stood  ii|)  again>t  the  n';^nlar  ele\cn  when  many  a  fellow  of 
greater  weight  and  strength  did  not.  So  he  pro\cd  liv  his  spirit 
that  he  u  i>>lied  lo  li<-  a  good  <il  i/,<n  as  far  as  was  in  his  |)owef.  eoii- 
trihuting  all  he  had  to  the  eoniniunils'  to  which  he  l)elon;^eii. 

80 


MERRILL   STANTON   GAUNT 

In  the  finest  sense  of  the  word  he  was  a  socialist.  SoeiaHsm  was 
at  the  core  of  that  sheaf  of  purposes  he  Hved  and  died  for.  The 
spiritual  content  of  the  strong  Latin  word  socius  animated  and 
armed  him,  and  sent  him  into  that  hfe  of  self-sacrifice  to  which 
he  literally  gave  his  life.  School  patriotism,  a  college  career  at 
Amherst,  preparation  for  the  Christian  ministry  at  Harvard,  life 
as  a  true  minister  of  Christ  in  the  ambulance  service  in  France 
were  simply  the  successive  steps  in  the  career  his  heart  had  deter- 
mined on  in  the  quiet  student  days  at  school  and  college.  Would 
there  were  no  lower  form  of  socialism!  The  "one  clear  call" 
came  to  him  under  circumstances  that  proved  the  beauty  of  the 
purpose  of  his  life.  He  could  show  his  love  for  his  fellow  men  in 
no  nobler  way  than  he  did  in  laying  down  his  life  for  his  fellows. 

After  Gaunt's  death  the  Worcester  Academy  sent  an  am- 
bulance to  France,  dedicated  to  his  memory.  A  bronze 
tablet  placed  in  Andover  Hall  by  his  classmates  in  the 
Andover  Theological  Seminary  and  Harvard  Divinity 
School  shows  his  fine  profile  in  relief,  and  commemorates 
him  in  the  following  terms : 

MERRILL   STANTON  GAUNT 
CLASS    OF    1917 

ANDOVER    THEOLOGICAL    SEMINARY 

HARVARD    DIVINITY    SCHOOL 

MDCCCXCII-MCMXVI 

VOLUNTEER    AMERICAN    AMBULANCE    CORPS 

DIED    IN    SERVICE    AT    BAR-LE-DUC    IN    FRANCE 

ON    APRIL    3RD 

AWARDED  THE  CROIX  DE  GUERRE 

A  LOVER  OF  MEN    AN  ADVOCATE  OF  PEACE 

A  BELOVED  FELLOW-STUDENT 

A  SERVANT  OF  THE  KINGDOM  OF  GOD 


MCTOR   E.MMAM  J:L   CHATMAN 


Class  of  1913 


jr\  H  j;.M  A  i<  KA  I',  i.i:  x'olniiic,  "\ict«»r  (  li;i|)m;iirs  Li'llcrs 
from  Fnmrc."  coiihiiiis  a  iiiciiioir  of  llii>  yoiiii;;  man  l)\  liis 
fatlici'.  Joliii  Jay  ("liapmaii.  of  the  Harxard  (lass  of  18H4, 
a  hio^'rapliy  in  lit  th-  w  liidi  miivl  he  connlcil.  now  and  licn*- 
after,  as  one  of  tin-  mcmoiaMr  picco  of  writing'  cNokcd  liy 

91 


VICTOR   EMMANUEL   CHAPMAN 

the  war.  The  attempt  of  the  following  paragraphs  will  be 
primarily  to  draw  enough  from  the  book  of  his  letters,  with 
his  father's  explications,  to  tell  the  essential  story  of  the 
life  and  death  of  this  first  American  aviator  who  gave  his 
life  for  France  —  and  perhaps  to  send  some  readers  to  the 
book  itself. 

Victor  Emmanuel  Chapman  was  born  in  New  York  City, 
April  17, 1890.  In  his  father's  blood  there  was  a  vital  strain 
of  the  New  England  abolitionist  of  the  mid-nineteenth  cen- 
tury ;  in  that  of  his  mother  (Minna  Timmins,  half -Italian, 
half -American)  a  Latin  fervor,  producing  a  blend  of  inheri- 
tances from  which  the  more  usual  qualities  of  young  Ameri- 
cans could  hardly  have  been  expected  to  emanate.  In 
Victor  Chapman  there  seems  always  to  have  been  some- 
thing unusual  —  a  capacity  of  brooding  sorrow,  quickened 
by  the  early  death  of  his  mother,  a  strong  religious  sense, 
carried  from  childhood  through  boyhood  into  manhood,  a 
zeal  for  righteousness,  a  love  for  danger  so  positive  that 
much  of  the  best  in  him  lay  dormant  until  the  provocation 
of  peril  stirred  him  into  activity,  a  corresponding  love  for 
natural  scenery  and  for  animals,  a  devotion  to  younger 
brothers  and  to  friends,  especially  when  they  needed  him, 
that  had  a  quality  of  knighthood  in  it.  There  was  also 
much  that  was  ungainly,  inarticulate,  and  slowly  maturing 
in  both  the  boy  and  the  man.  Nearly  all  of  these  points  are 
illustrated  by  concrete  instances  recalled  by  Chapman's 
father.  Soon  after  his  death  a  classmate  told  this  character- 
istic story:  "Just  five  and  a  half  years  ago,  I  think.  Chap- 
man declined  to  follow  me  across  some  ice  floes  half  a  mile 
out  to  sea  because  the  going  was  palpably  unsafe,  and  in- 
side of  ten  minutes  he  had  saved  my  life  by  returning  and 

92 


VICTOR    E^fMAXUEL    CHAPMAN 

walking  out  to  sea  till  he  tiiially  liookoil  mo  out  from  the 
ic-y  water  on  the  muzzle  entl  of  a  loaded  and  rocked  rith\ 
iNothing  could  he  more  typical  of  him." 

Such  an  one  he  had  already  shown  himself  in  college. 
His  ])reparation  for  it  was  made  at  the  Fay  School,  South- 
horough.  St.  Paul's  School,  Concord,  in  France  and  (ler- 
manv  for  a  vear,  and  at  the  Stone  School  in  Boston  for  his 
final  year  of  schooling.  He  had  no  aptitude  for  .sports,  .said 
his  father,  nor  for  books;  and  the  ])assion  for  color  and 
scenery  which  offset  these  lacks  was  not  a  gift  to  make  him 
at  all  a  consjiicuons  figure  in  the  college  community.  A 
letter  of  his  own,  after  he  had  begun  to  fly  in  France,  sug- 
gests at  least  one  of  his  undergraduate  plea.sures:  "It  is 
easier  to  pilot  an  aeroplane  than  drive  an  auto  when  you 
get  on,  and  far  less  dangerous  than  the  autoing  I  used  to  do 
daily  at  Cambridge."  By  ways  of  his  own  he  was  develop- 
ing a  force  of  character  in  keeping  with  the  largeness  and 
strength  of  his  body. 

On  graduating  from  College  in  11)13  he  went  inunediately 
to  Paris  and  entered  an  atelier  for  the  preliminary  studies 
in  architecture  which  he  was  to  pursue  at  the  Beaux-Arts. 
He  had  thus  been  in  France  for  about  a  year  when  the  war 
began.  It  had  la.sted  hardly  more  than  a  month  when  he 
volunteered  for  service  in  the  Foreign  Legion  of  the  French 
Army,  and  was  accepted. 

l-'(tr  IK  ally  a  year  he  remained  in  the  Legion,  scr\iiig  in 
the  trenches  at  a  jxiiiil,  as  iiis  father  says,  "where  I  here 
were  no  attacks,  but  where  inaction  and  the  coiiliiiual 
'sniping'  .severely  tried  t  lie  iier\c>.  K'ohii,  an  aeeoiiiplished 
Poli-h  malliemal  iciaii  was  shot,  as  lie  and  \ictor  ueie 
ie.iiiiiig  over  t  he /f////.v.    He(lie<l  ill  \'ic! or'>  ariii->.     J-'oroNcr 

!i:i 


VICTOR  EMMANUEL  CHAPMAN 

one  hundred  consecutive  days  Victor  was  in  the  front 
trenches  as  aide-chargeur  to  a  mitrail.  He  was  sh'ghtly 
wounded  once,  and  one-half  of  his  squadron  were  either 
killed  or  seriously  hurt."  Through  all  this  service  he  dis- 
played the  greatest  cheerfulness  in  the  performance  of  ex- 
tremely miscellaneous  tasks,  the  truest  human  kindness  to 
his  comrades,  and  an  unfailing  courage.  The  Legion,  as 
Henry  Farnsworth's  letters  have  shown,  brought  together 
the  most  diverse  types  of  men.  In  one  of  Chapman's  let- 
ters a  few  of  them  pass  in  review: 

It  might  be  of  interest  to  you  to  know  the  names  of  the  men  in 
my  squad.  Markus,  better  class  Russian  Pole  with  French  wife; 
Heredia,  Malaga  Spanish,  writes  for  Spanish  papers  and  has 
translated  Mark  Twain,  etc.;  Held,  Swiss  origin,  born  in  Paris; 
Gabai,  Turkish  Jew,  Constantinople,  Spanish  ancestry,  cheap 
chemisier;  Millet,  Italian  from  near  Monaco;  Zimmermann, 
Alsatian,  Strassburg,  professional  bicyclist,  served  as  orderly  to 
officer  in  Germany,  speaks  French  with  a  vile  accent;  Ziidak, 
Russian  Pole,  very  greedy,  speaks  considerable  French;  Chik- 
echki,  ditto,  speaks  better  French,  a  strong  fellow;  Bogdan,  Aus- 
trian Pole,  no  French  but  German;  Canbrai,  miner,  simple  man, 
never  gives  trouble;  Bajteck,  Austrian  Pole,  greedy.  These  Poles 
are  by  far  the  best  material  physically  for  soldiers;  and  though 
not  very  bright,  they  do  not  give  trouble.  Gabai,  the  Turk,  is  all 
the  time  talking  and  getting  into  most  heated  arguments  when- 
ever anyone  will  talk  to  him,  in  fact,  his  presence  is  always  felt 
when  he  is  in  the  room  by  his  constant  flow  of  language.  Man- 
chiuski,  the  slight  little  Pole  tailor,  calls  him  the  mitrailleuse. 
Recently  Held  got  himself  changed  to  the  kitchen;  the  reason 
he  gave  me  was  that  he  could  not  stand  the  constant  yelling 
and  cursing. 

Victor  Chapman  had  not  been  in  the  Legion  a  month 
when  he  related  the  following  incident,  with  its  unconscious 

94 


VICTOR    EMMAXIET.    (  II APMAX 

revelation  of  wliat  lie  was  beginning  to  iiu^in  to  his  com- 
panions in  arms: 

I  made  a  sentimental /«».r-;)(f.s'  at  Hfuilly  Casoriic  oiu'  ni^ht. 
It  was  after  taps  l)ut  the  lamj)  was  still  hurniiifj:.  I  lay  trying'  to 
sleep  with  my  head  to  the  midclK-  of  the  rooiii.  In  fad  I  was  al- 
most asleep.  There  was  a  tall  in  the  room.  I  afterwards  learned 
that  the  unfortunate  Germans  were  called  to  be  .sent  to  Morocco. 
Some  one  said,  '"Oj/  eff  Chapman?"  and  the  next  thinj^  I  knew 
some  one  embraced  me.  I  thought  it  was  some  joke,  and  liftiuii 
my  leg  pu.shed  him  across  the  room.  A  voice  whimpered  " San^ 
blague,  c^esi  adieu.  "  It  was  a  j)oor  fellow  I  had  seen  a  few  times, 
who.  though  really  French,  was  born  in  Cermauy  and  had  put 
his  name  down  as  German.  Then  he  hurried  off,  but  I  was  nuich 
touched  hy  his  kiss  for  I  hardly  knew  him  and  never  heard  his 
name. 

A  fellow  Lajiounairc  has  told  another  story,  of  .signifi- 
cance: 

One  day  a  miiraiUeur  came  up  to  him  saying,  "I'm  sick.  The 
major  has  ordered  me  to  drink  milk  for  tMo weeks;  but  there  isn't 
any  here.  They  're  going  to  send  me  to  the  rear,  and  I'm  bored 
with  the  notion."  "Good,"  said  Victor.  "Stay  where  you  are; 
I'll  settle  it."  At  dinner  time  Chapman  disappeared.  That  eve- 
ning the  section  saw  him  returning  accomj)anied  by  a  cow  wliich 
lie  was  dragging  behind  him.  "I  bought  lier  so  that  yon  conld 
get  your  milk,"  said  lie  to  the  sick  mitruilUur.  "Now  you  can 
.stay  with  us."  Chaj)nian  was  the  Maecenas  of  llie  rcginieni,  I  lie 
master  of  re\('ls,  the  friend  of  all. 

Mnch  of  the  life  in  tlie  trciiclics  was  tedious  in  the  ex- 
treme to  \icl()r  (  liapmaii.  He  ''kej)!  liim>elf  going."  j)er- 
hap.s  most  of  all.  through  intcrol  in  the  liuiiiaii  ix'iiigs 
about  him.  Occasional  meetings  with  Alan  Sccger  an<l 
Henrv  l-'arn>w(»rl  li  were  noted  with  jdea-^ure.    "I  g(>  to  .see 


VICTOR  EMMANUEL  CHAPMAN 

Farnsworth  daily"  —  he  wrote,  April  12,  1915  — "and 
catch  myself  making  estimates  as  to  how  he  keeps  up  his 
interest ...  I  must  say  I  come  back  feeling  gayer  after  see- 
ing him."  He  turned  for  comfort  also  to  books  —  Lamb, 
the  Autocrat,  Hamlet,  Galsworthy,  Emerson,  a  new  vol- 
ume of  his  father's,  read  with  pride  and  delight,  the  Bible. 
He  made  water-color  sketches,  with  an  increasingly  skilful 
hand,  when  he  could,  and  betrayed  the  architect's  eye  by 
comments,  in  his  letters,  upon  the  ruined  buildings  of 
Northern  France.  He  saw  the  beauties  of  nature  about 
him:  "Apple  trees  are  now  in  bloom,"  he  wrote  in  May  of 
1915,  "and  when  the  nights  are  not  too  windy  birds  chirp 
all  through  them.  I  have  not  yet,  however,  heard  anything 
to  resemble  my  conception  of  a  nightingale's  voice.  Last 
night,  after  the  disturbing  influence  of  the  artillery,  both 
sides  sent  up  occasional  rockets,  short  flickering  stars  which 
rose,  bobbed  a  moment,  and  went  out,  showing  up  only  the 
black  silhouette  of  trees  and  feathery  clouds  banked  upon 
one  another.  Did  I  tell  you  that  in  my  night  watches  I 
have  taken  particular  interest  in  the  stars  .f^  —  like  the  an- 
cient shepherds,  —  and  have  made  some  shrewd  guesses  as 
to  the  Zodiac  constellations." 

In  spite  of  all  these  interests  the  comparatively  inactive 
lot  which  happened  to  befall  Chapman  in  the  Legion  be- 
came most  irksome  to  him.  "The  boring  part  of  this  life" 
—  he  wrote  to  his  father  in  February,  1915  —  "is  that  it  is 
only  ideal  for  a  boy  of  fifteen.  Constructing  houses  with- 
out boards ;  camping  out  with  its  hardships  and  difiiculties 
to  be  overcome;  generally  living  a  happy-go-lucky,  hand- 
to-mouth  existence;  losing  things  right  and  left,  if  they  are 
abundant;  ^ — I  have  lost,  I  fear,  almost  entirely  my  per- 

96 


VICTOR    KM  MAM  EL    (  TIAr:\rAX 

spective  of  the  oiitsielo  world."    A  few  inoiiths  later,  while 
still  in  the  Legion,  he  wrote:  "I  feel  that  this  is  a  most  ex- 
cellent ai)i)renticesliii)  for  the  job  of  tending  a  light-house 
or  light-ship.    At  first  when  the  ])lace  is  new,  the  work  is 
interesting,  the  events  (storms,  etc.)  are  exciting;  then  one 
loses  more  and  more  the  outside  ])oint  of  view.    The  fine 
sunsets    ami    sunrises   get    monotonous,    the   people   one 
thought  ]>icturesque  and  amusing  at  first  sight,  lose  their 
interest,  and  you  have  recourse  to  books,  magazines,  and 
newspapers.   Of  course  here  I  do  a  little  more.    Give  Eng- 
lish lessons,  for  instance."   As  time  wore  on,  Chapman  be- 
came  more   and    more   disgusted    with    having   "neither 
helped  the  French,  nor  injured  the  CJermans,"  as  he  put  it, 
and  when  the  opportunity  came  to  join  the  Lafayette 
Escadrille  of  American  aviators  in  the  French  Army,  a 
corps  cV elite  organized  l)y  Norman  Prince  (Harvard,  '08), 
Frazier    Curtis    (Harvard,    'f)S),   and    Klliot   C.    Cowdin 
(Harvard,  '09),  he  seized  it  with  avidity.    His  only  regret 
appears  to  have  been  that  he  was  not  with  it  from  its  very 
inception. 

"Victor's  entry  into  thcAmerican  Aviation  was,  to  him," 
says  his  father,  "like  being  made  a  Knight.  Tt  transformed 
—  one  might  almost  say  —  transfigured  him.  Thai  the 
univer.se  should  have  sui)i)lied  this  sj)iril  with  the  consum- 
mation which  it  had  sought  from  infancy  and  should  lia\  c 
gi\(ii,  in  a  few  weeks,  conii)lct('  ha])piness  and  (■om|)lete 
fullilliiicnt,  —  the  crown  of  a  life  to  which  one  can  imagine 
no  other  perfect  ending,  —  is  one  of  the  mysteries  oi  this 
divine  age."  In  August.  lf)l.").  his  traii>l'cr  to  the  A\  iaiion 
Corp>  was  etfectcd.  'Hicn  followed  months  of  training, 
first  as  milrdiUciir  <»r  homlnirclier,  then  as  pilolr.    A  graphic 

97 


VICTOR  EMMANUEL  CHAPMAN 

letter  of  August  25,  describes  his  first  successful  raid  into 
Germany,  and  his  own  joy  at  seeing  the  aerial  bomb  which 
he  launched  land  on  a  railroad  track,  and  not  on  civilian 
houses.  In  the  spring  he  was  ready  to  go  to  the  front,  and 
May  23  he  wrote  from  Verdun:  "We  are  really  settling 
down  to  work,  and  I  begin  to  feel  that  I  am  actively  saving 
France  and  no  longer  toying  with  her  expensive  utensils." 
How  much  of  a  game  it  still  was  the  following  paragraph 
from  a  letter  of  June  1  will  tell : 

This  morning  we  all  started  off  at  three,  and,  not  having  made 
concise  enough  arrangements,  got  separated  in  the  morning  mist. 
I  found  Prince,  however,  and  we  went  to  Douaumont  where  we 
found  two  German  reglage  machines  unprotected  and  fell  upon 
them.  A  skirmish,  a  spitting  of  guns,  and  we  drew  away.  It  had 
been  badly  executed,  that  manoeuvre.  But  ho!  Another  Boche 
heading  for  Verdun!  Taking  the  direction  stick  between  my 
knees  I  tussled  and  fought  with  the  mitrailleuse  and  finally 
charged  the  rouleau,  all  the  while  eyeing  my  Boche  and  moving 
across  Vaux  towards  Etain.  I  had  no  altitude  with  which  to 
overtake  him,  but  a  little  more  speed.  So  I  got  behind  his  tail 
and  spit  till  he  dived  into  his  own  territory.  Having  lost  Nor- 
man, I  made  a  tour  to  the  Argonne  and  on  the  way  back  saw  an- 
other fat  Boche.  "  No  protection  machine  in  sight. "  I  swooped, 
swerved  to  the  right,  to  the  left,  almost  lost,  but  then  came  up 
under  his  lee  keel  by  the  stern.  (It's  the  one  position  they  cannot 
shoot  from.)  I  seemed  a  dory  alongside  a  schooner.  I  pulled  up 
my  nose  to  let  him  have  it.  Crr-Crr-Crr  —  a  cartridge  jammed 
in  the  barrel.  He  jumped  like  a  frog  and  fled  down  to  his  grounds. 
Later  in  the  morning  I  made  another  stroll  along  the  lines.  Met 
a  flock  of  Nieuports,  and  saw  across  the  way  a  squad  of  white- 
winged  L.  V.  G.  How  like  a  game  of  prisoner's  base  it  all  is !  I 
scurry  out  in  company,  and  they  run  away.  They  come  into  my 
territory  and  I  being  alone,  take  to  my  heels.  They  did  come 
after  me  once  too !     Faster  they  are  than  I,  but  I  had  height  so 

98 


VICTOR    EMMAXT'KT.    (■TTAP^rA\ 

they  could  but  leer  up  at  jne  with  their  ilead-white  wiii^s  and 
black  crosses  like  sharks,  and  they  returned  to  their  own  donuiin. 

In  this  and  other  letters  there  are  vivid  little  pictures  of 
the  scenes  that  constantly  gave  i)leasure  to  his  eyes. 
"Everyone  says  they  get  tired  of  flying.  'It's  monotonous.' 
I  don't  see  it,"  he  wrote  on  June  .5.  continuin<r, 

but  on  tile  contrar\',  an  infinite  variety  is  tliis,  when  there  is  a 
slight  sjirinkling  of  clouds.  Clouds  are  not  thin  pieces  of  i)lotting 
paj)er;  but  liquid,  ceaselessly  changing  steam.  I  played  hide-and- 
seek  in  and  out  them  yesterday;  sometimes  flat  blankets  like 
melting  snow  on  either  side  below  me,  or  again,  like  great  ice 
floes  with  distant  bergs  looming  upr-and  "open  water"  near  at 
hand,  blue  as  a  moonstone  cloud,  floating  full,  for  all  the  world 
like  a  gigantic  jelly-fish  (those  that  have  red  trailers  and  a  sting). 
In  the  nearer  pools  the  mottled  earth,  piebald  with  sun  and 
shadow,  showed  through;  and  it  was  thanks  to  these  I  knew  my 
whereabouts.  I  was  going  from  below  the  clouds  to  above  them, 
circlin<i  in  some  hole;  thus  I  realized  the  size  and  thickness  of  the 
walls,  —  300  metres  sheer  from  top  to  base  of  dazzling  whiteness. 
Some  have  many  feathery,  filmy  points  and  anj^les,  others  are 
rounded  and  voluminous,  with  cracks  and  caverns  in  them. 
These  are  all  the  fair-weather,  fleecy  clouds;  for  there  are  the 
lower,  flatter,  misty  ones,  and  the  speckled,  or  nuire's  tail  clouds, 
above  which  one  never  reaches.  There  are  such  a  lot  nt'  t  ninipet- 
shaj>ed  and  wind-blow  n  clouds  this  evening  that  I  should  like  to 
go  out  and  examine  them;  but  it's  a  bore  for  my  mechatiic,  and  I 
d(iiil)l  if"  I  could  ^o  hi<,'h  enon^'h  to  warrant  crossing  tlif  lines. 

i'lic  (/(ludiinii  (■I'rltiiiiinis  was  joined  with  all  ol  (liap- 
man's  cu joxiiieiit  of  l)caul\',  for  lie  was  couslaulK'  in  com- 
Itat  with  (icrmaii  macliiiu's.  and  landing  with  injuries  to 
liimx-lf  and  lii>  i)lanc.  yet  eager  to  lake  wing  again  at  the 
earliest  ()j)p(>rtunily.  It  irked  liim  ^Mcally  not  to  be  con- 
stantly at  it  — .seeing  eleai'ly  at  I  he  same  t  inie  I  he  Immors 

99 


VICTOR  EMMANUEL  CHAPMAN 

of  the  notice  his  exploits  were  attracting.  Only  a  few  weeks 
before  his  death  he  wrote: 

It  seems  an  exceptional  chance  for  getting  into  the  public  eye, 
though,  I  must  say  it's  too  bad  I'm  not  going  into  politics  after 
the  war  so  that  I  could  make  use  of  all  this  free  advertising.  I 
might  almost  run  for  the  Assembly  so  as  not  to  lose  such  a  golden 
opportunity.  Anyway,  Conrad  and  Chanler  [his  younger  broth- 
ers] are  benefiting.  I  take  it  they  will  be  pointed  out  at  the 
Military  Camps:  "Hist!  Dat  guy  has  a  brudder  in  the  real  war. 
He  kills  Chermans  every  mornin'  like  sparrers."  Meanwhile,  I 
sit  in  an  open  window  with  waves  of  leaden  clouds  drifting  by, 
and  the  indefatigable  graphophone  churns  out  some  vulgar  tune 
below,  and  the  other  "heroes  "  play  poker,  and  the  Captain  prac- 
tises scales  on  the  piano.  It  is  disintegrating  to  mind  and  body, 
—  this  continued  inertia. 

The  inertia  was  never  of  long  continuance,  or  other  than 
under  compulsion,  as  it  was  at  this  very  time,  because  of  a 
head  wound  received  in  action.  A  few  days  later  a  fellow- 
member  of  the  Escadrille,  Clyde  Balsley,  was  wounded  and 
taken  to  a  hospital  behind  Verdun.  Before  long  it  was 
found  that  champagne  or  oranges  would  hasten  his  re- 
covery. Chapman  at  once  made  provision  for  the  cham- 
pagne, and,  as  soon  as  he  was  permitted  to  fly  again  him- 
self, began  taking  oranges  to  his  friend.  This  he  designed 
to  do  on  the  day  of  his  death,  June  23,  1916.  Indeed  the 
basket  of  oranges  was  placed  in  the  machine  in  which  he 
followed  his  captain,  Thenault,  Norman  Prince,  and  Raoul 
Lufbery,  when  they  set  forth  to  go  over  the  lines  early  in 
the  afternoon.  Chapman's  purpose  was  to  fly  after  them 
for  a  time,  and  then  land  at  the  hospital  with  the  oranges 
for  Balsley.  But  the  captain.  Prince,  and  Lufbery,  seeing 
and  attacking  two  German  planes,  were  soon  attacked  by 

100 


VICTOR    EM^IAXrEL    CHArMAX 

two  or  lliivo  more,  turning  the  odds  aj;ain>t  them.  Chap- 
man saw  the  situation,  and  rushed  into  the  fight,  unseen  by 
his  three  friends,  who  believing  tliemselves  liopelessly  out- 
numbered, started  for  their  own  lines.  The  reversed  odds 
were  now  hopeless  indeed  —  four  or  five  against  one.  That 
one  was  seen — not  by  his  own  comrades,  who  supposed  all 
the  while  that  he  was  visiting  his  frientl  in  hospital,  but 
by  quite  another  observer  —  to  dash  to  the  ground,  with 
his  machine  at  full  speed  and  uncontrolled.  This  report  did 
not  reach  the  Escadrille  for  a  week  after  the  event.  "A 
glorious  death"  —  wrote  Norman  Prince  when  the  news 
came  —  '\f(icc  a  Vcnncnii  and  for  a  great  cause  and  to  save 
a  friend  I" 

From  an  unexpected  angle  Victor  Chapman  may  be  seen 
only  a  few  days  before  his  epical  death  — -  at  the  bedside  of 
Clyde  Balsley  in  the  hospital  at  Vatlincourt.  This  glimpse 
of  him  appears  in  a  narrative,  "'Severely  Wounded,*  The 
Story  of  a  Wounded  American  in  a  French  Hospital,  Tran- 
scribed by  Ruth  Dunbar,"  which  was  printed  in  the  (Jcn- 
iury  Magazine  for  February,  1919.  It  is  Balsley's  own 
story,  in  which,  after  describing  his  intense  longing  for 
water,  as  he  lay,  greatly  suffering,  in  the  hosi)ital,  he  says: 

So  violent  was  this  one  longing  that  I  was  actually  hliiided.  I 
did  not  at  first  see  a  man  standing  beside  iii\-  Ited. 

They  eanie  to  me  one  by  one  ^  the  heavy,  black  hair,  the 
great  arms,  and  the  sincerest  eyes  ill  the  world.  When  I  put  tlicin 
all  together,  I  gave  a  groan  of  joy.  It  was  \  icior  ("liai)rnaii, 
flown  over  from  Har-Ic-I)uc. 

"Hello,  old  t.(.y,"  lie  was  saying.    "Hen's  voiir  to<i(h-l>rusli." 

He  was  lioldin;:  it  on!  in  lii^  i^r,-,.;,|  paw,  and  I  lliiiik  I  realize(| 
even  then  how  liar<l  lie  was  trying  to  lie  maller-ol-tael .  I  lie 
toofli-hriisli,  the   Mii;:lis|i   word-,   the  dear  Aineriean   voice,  the 

101 


VICTOR  EMMANUEL  CHAPMAN 

aviator  whom  every  one  in  our  squad  loved  deeply  —  I  knew 
nothing  now  except  that  I  had  them  again.  Then  in  a  moment  it 
came  back  to  me,  the  terrible  thirst.  "Oh,"  I  thought,  with  a 
touch  of  the  craftiness  that  is  part  of  sickness,  "if  I  can  only  look 
how  thirsty  I  am,  Vic  will  do  something  about  it.  He'll  see  that 
I  get  something  better  than  an  old  wet  bandage  to  suck." 

"Anything  I  can  get  for  you,  old  man?  "  said  he,  meeting  my 
thirsty  eyes. 

"You  bet,"  said  I.  "They  won't  let  me  have  any  water." 
The  way  I  kept  moistening  my  lips  finished  the  appeal. 

"How  about  oranges? "  said  he,  and  turned  to  my  doctor,  just 
at  that  moment  come  in, 

"Bien,"  answered  the  surgeon,  with  a  shrug;  "but  there  are 
not  any  to  be  had  in  the  village." 

" Guess  we'll  fix  that, "  said  Victor.  "I'll  get  you  those  oranges 
if  I  have  to  fly  to  Paris." 

I  looked  from  one  to  the  other.  Oranges!  Why  hadn't  I 
thought  of  those  before?  There  is  a  certain  sublime  ignominy 
in  the  way  a  sick  man  permits  himself  to  gloat  over  something 
which  he  cannot  have.  I  gave  myself  up  to  this  ignominy  com- 
pletely. 

"Don't  you  worry,"  said  Victor,  lingering  by  my  side  and  giv- 
ing my  arm  a  bearlike  pat.    "Be  out  of  this  in  no  time." 

He  was  part  of  my  beloved  Bar-le-Duc,  he  was  my  friend  in  a 
world  of  strangers. 

The  oranges  came,  as  we  have  seen,  until,  one  near  day, 
they  were  brought  by  another  than  Victor  Chapman,  and 
Balsley  learned  that  this  friend  would  come  no  more. 

A  funeral  service  for  Victor  Chapman  was  held  in  the 
American  Church  at  Paris  on  July  4  - —  a  happy  accident  of 
date  which  gave  the  occasion  a  remarkable  international 
significance.  "America  has  sent  us  this  sublime  youth," 
wrote  a  French  woman,  "and  our  gratitude  for  him  is  such 
that  it  flows  back  upon  his  country.   Wherever  I  go  I  am 

102 


VICTOR    KMMAXrKl,    ('HVrMAX 

asked  about  liiiu.    Nrwr  >iiur  tlu'  oiitbivak  i)l  llio  war  has 
public  sentiment  been  more  (lee|)ly  aroused." 

On  ^Fay  '■24  Victor  ('hai)man  had  l»een  projjosed  for  ■ser- 
geant and  for  the  ( 'roi.r  dc  (iiicrrf.  The  papers  were  passed, 
and  reached  tlie  Kscaiirille  two  days  after  his  cK'ath;  but 
('liai)man  learned  on  the  morning  of  ids  last  Might  that  they 
were  coming.  The  McdaiUc  Mllitdiir  would  also  ha\e 
reached  him  in  July  had  the  necessary  i)ai)ers  been  signeil, 
according  to  rule,  before  his  tieath.  I'he  following  citation 
appeared  in  the  Journal  ()(firitl  for  October  7,  1})1(>: 

Cliapnian  (Victor)  sergent  pilote  a  rescadrille  X.  l'"24:  pilote 
de  ehasse  qui  etait  uii  niodele  (raiidacc.  d'eiu'rifit'  et  (reiitrain  et 
faisait  radmiration  de  ses  cainarades  d'e.seadrillc.  Serieuseinent 
blesse  ii  la  tete  le  17  juiii,  a  (icinaiide  a  ne  pas  intorroinpre  son 
service.  Quelques  j\)urs  plus  tard,  s'etant  lance  Ti  I'attaciiie  de 
I)lusieurs  a\i()iis  (nuuMuis,  a  trouve  uuv  iiiort  i^loriousc  an  {-ours 
<lc  la  lutte. 

At  Harvard  the  "Victor  Kmmannel  Chapman  ^^emorial 
Fellow.^hip"  for  the  maiuteuance  of  a  French  youth  as  a 
student  in  the  I'uiversity  i)reserves  his  name  to  future 
generations. 


CLYDE  FAIRBANKS  MAXWELL 


Class  of  1914 


Xhe  son  of  a  British  subject,  Walter  Maxwell,  A.M. 
(Harvard)  1889,  Government  Inspector  of  sugar  refineries 
in  New  South  Wales,  Clyde  Fairbanks  Maxwell  was  born 
in  Northampton,  Massachusetts,  April  14,  1892.  His 
mother,  Annie  (Weber)  Maxwell  was  an  American,  but 

104 


CLYDE    FAIR  HANKS    MAXWELL 

this  son.  iluniirli  aixlentl\"  Aincricaii  in  iVt'lin^.  never  be- 
came a  citizen  of  the  I  iiitcd  States.  a»  it  is  believed  he 
would  have  done  had  he  snrvived  the  war.  Through  his 
boyhood  in  the  Antii)t)des  he  attended  school  at  Arniidale 
and  Sydney,  New  Soutli  ^^ales.  While  he  \\a>  a  i)U[)il  at 
the  Arniichile  School,  it  i>  i-clated  tliat  nii  one  occasion, 
after  the  military  cailets  of  the  school  had  saluted  the 
l?riti>h  c(tl(tr>.  (  lyde  Maxwell  ])roduced  an  American  fla*; 
and,  spreadin<,'  the  stars  and  stripes  to  the  breeze,  called 
out  "Now.  boys,  ril  show  you  something  worthy  of  your 
lionor."  The  xonng  colonials  fortunatelv  took  it  all  in 
good  ])art.  gave  the  cheer  for  which  the  half-American 
lu)j)ed.  and  thenceforth  called  him  "Doodles." 

Coming  to  Harvard  (|uite  without  friends  in  the  College, 
he  soon  made  them  there.  Soccer  was  the  only  college  sport 
he  knew,  and  as  a  freshman  he  became  a  substitute  on  the 
^ar^■ar<l  Soccer  Team.  Besides,  he  rowed  on  crews,  dor- 
mitory and  other,  joined  the  AVesleiMi  Club,  and  held  an 
associate  editorshij)  of  the  I/drrard  niiislrtilcd.  His  scho- 
lastic standing  won  him  at  the  same  time  a  Harxard  Col- 
lege Scholarship  in  both  his  >oj)honioi"e  and  his  senior  year, 
which  was  foi-  him  a  half-ycai-.  at  t  he  end  of  w  hicli  he  com- 
pleted the  studies  culitling  him  to  a  liachcloi's  (fegree. 

The  wai"  licgaii  hardly  more  than  a  inontli  alter  the 
graduation  of  ^Ll\w<■l^s  clas>.  lie  sailed  at  once  toi'  iaig- 
land  and  eiiteicd  training  as  an  iufauti-y  ofiicer.  \N  lieu  his 
regiment .  t  he  .Ninth  Ivssev,  was  about  to  start  for  t  he  front. 
the  condit  ion  of  his  healt  h  obliged  him  to  ask  toi'  siek  lea\  e. 
This  la > ted  for  a  year,  in  I  he  course  of  w  Inch  he  lieeauie  en- 
gaged to  lie  married.  Laily  in  June,  l!>l<i,  he  joined  his 
regimeul   in  I'lauee,  a   Lieuteuaut.     I  li^  •<er\  iee  at   thelioul 


CLYDE   FAIRBANKS   MAXWELL 

was  ended  by  death  in  action  about  a  month  later.    His 
father  has  described  the  final  scene : 

Concerning  the  fact  and  circumstances  of  the  death  of  Lieu- 
tenant Clyde  F.  Maxwell,  the  following  is  the  nearest  to  exact- 
ness that  I  can  furnish.  I  will  remark  that  Lieutenant  Maxwell 
was  reported  as  missing,  and  it  was  some  nine  months  later  that 
the  fact  and  circumstances  of  his  end  were  furnished  by  one  of 
the  wounded  but  surviving  men  whom  Lieutenant  Maxwell  led 
into  action. 

The  Ninth  Essex  Infantry  went  into  action  at  dawn  on  the 
morning  of  July  3,  1916,  at  La  Boisselle.  Lieutenant  Clyde  F. 
Maxwell  was  wounded  during  the  first  half-hour,  and  should 
have  retired.  As  ranking  officer  of  his  platoon,  he  declined  to 
retire  out  of  action,  and  led  on  his  men.  Near  the  end  of  the 
fourth  hour  of  the  action  he  was  mortally  wounded.  The  private 
soldier,  who  is  authority  for  this  account,  stated  that  after  Lieu- 
tenant Maxwell  was  struck  the  second  time  by  shell  he  was  un- 
able to  rise,  or  to  speak,  but  by  the  motion  of  his  uninjured  arm 
he  urged  forward  his  men.  Shortly  after  his  fall  he  rolled  into 
a  shell  hole  and  was  "blown  in"  by  a  further  shell,  the  exact 
place  being  unknown  now. 

I  may  add  the  following:  Young  officers  when  going  into  ac- 
tion frequently  placed  in  the  most  convenient  pocket  of  their 
uniform  an  open,  but  addressed  envelope  containing  a  blank 
sheet  of  paper,  with  an  attached  pencil.  It  appears  that  Lieu- 
tenant Maxwell  had  made  this  provision,  as  a  closed  letter  was 
found  in,  or  near,  the  German  trench  which  his  platoon  had 
taken.  The  letter  was  forwarded  to  the  address  in  England  that 
the  envelope  bore.  It  was  received  by  a  young  girl  friend  of 
Lieutenant  Maxwell.  He  had  not  been  able  to  do  more  than  take 
out  of  his  uniform  the  letter  and  close  it  —  with  blood.  The  en- 
closed sheet  was  blank. 

The  receipt  of  that  letter  indicated  the  end  of  Lieutenant 
Maxwell;  yet  it  was  only  after  some  nine  months  that  the  indi- 
cation was  confirmed. 

106 


CLYDE    FAIRIJANKS    MAXWKLL 

The  Coininanding  Otfict  r  of  flu'  licj^MiiuMit  coinnuinicatcil  to 
his  family  a  statement  of  the  coohiess  ami  jjreat  heroism  of  Lieu- 
tenant Maxwell  (luriiij:  action  previous  to  his  fall. 

"Pater,  you  know  I  must  make  «;oocr'  were  tlu-  la>l 
words  he  had  said  to  his  father  before  leaviu<;  En^dand. 
riiis  lie  did.  in  a  maimer  amply  justifying  the  character- 
ization of  him  in  the  Second  Report  of  the  Class  of  l!)14: 
"^Lixwell  was  a  man  of  the  hi»;hest  ideals.  \ery  modest 
and  unassuming,  with  a  sense  of  duty  which  would  Lrook 
no  shirkint;.  Those  whom  he  called  friends  were  always 
warm  friends,  and  these  he  never  failed  and  never  lost." 


ALAN  SEEGER 


Class  of  1910 


i)E CAUSE  Alan  Seeger  was  a  writer,  and  a  writer  who 
commanded  serious  attention,  there  is  ample  material  for  a 
more  detailed  memoir  of  him  than  this  can  possibly  be.  A 
thorough  treatment  of  the  subject  would  involve  a  careful 
study  of  origins  and  influences,  ancestral  and  individual, 
with  special  reference  to  the  more  formative  years  of  the 

108 


A  LAN    SEECiER 

young  poet's  life.  Here  it  must  sutHcr  to  give  the  essential 
facts  of  his  brief  hut  fruitful  career,  drawing  frei-ly  upon 
words  of  his  own  to  record  his  attitude  towards  life  and 
some  of  his  dealings  witli  it. 

He  was  horn  in  New  ^'()rk.  .luuc  2^^,  ISJSS,  the  son  of 
Cliarles  Louis  Sccger.  and  EUic  Adams)  Seeger.  The 
fact  that  a  part  of  lii>  boyhood  was  sjjcnt  in  Mexico,  where 
his  father  had  business  interests  and  sometimes  li\-ed. 
taken  together  with  his  somewhat  exotic  api)earance,  due 
to  ])ictnres(iue  clothing  and  a  cons])icuous  mat  or  thatch  of 
black  hair.  ga\e  the  impression  in  College  that  his  strange- 
ness was  something  racial  and  complete.  As  a  matter  of 
fact  his  blood  was  chiefly  that  of  New  England,  anil  except 
for  the  few  years  in  Mexico,  w  ith  its  many  cosmopolitan  in- 
fluences, his  vacations  in  the  New  Hampshire  hills,  and  a 
winter  in  Southern  ("alifornia.  his  boyhood  was  subjected 
to  influences  no  more  remote  than  those  of  New  York  City, 
Staten  Island,  and  'I'arrytown,  New  York,  where  he  was 
])re])ared  at  Hackley  School  to  enter  Harvard  ( 'ollege.  \  et 
all  these  spots  were  sj)ots  of  beauty  places  in  which  the 
eye  might  take  a  \arious  delight  and  school  itself  to  the 
Uses  of  art  in  w  liate\t'r  ft)rm.  Especially  of  the  poet  it  may 
be  said  :  "As  what  he  sees  is,  so  lun'c  his  t  houghts  been.*' 

'I'he  poet  and  the  child  ha\'e  this  in  coimnon,  that  they 
are  contimially  j)assing  through  "phases.*"  In  college 
Seeger  j)asse(l  through  the  alternate  |)hases  of  loathing  and 
lo\'ing  the  whole  thing.  In  the  second  stage,  his  mother 
has  w  ritten,  "he  was  in  p<ifecl  despair  o\ci-  ha  \ing  wast  t-d 
those  years,  and  not  entered  more  into  the  hie  there.*' 
\\  rit  ing  of  this  t  inie  in  I  he  linal  year  of  his  own  lite  he  said 
of  it,  "I    was  a  (le\i)ti"e  of   Learning  for  Learning's  sake. 


ALAN   SEEGER 

My  life  during  those  years  was  intellectual  to  the  exclusion 
of  almost  everything  else.  The  events  of  that  life  were 
positive  adventures  to  me.  Few,  I  am  sure,  have  known 
more  than  I  did  then  the  employ  of  intellect  as  an  instru- 
ment of  pleasure.  I  shut  myself  off  completely  from  the 
life  of  the  University,  so  full,  nevertheless,  of  pleasures.  I 
scoffed  at  these  pleasures  that  were  no  more  to  me  than 
froth.  I  felt  no  need  of  comradeship.  I  led  the  life  of  an 
anchorite.  At  an  age  when  the  social  instincts  are  usually 
most  lively  I  came  to  understand  the  pleasures  of  solitude. 
My  books  were  my  friends.  The  opening  to  me  of  the 
shelves  of  the  college  library,  a  rare  privilege,  was  like 
opening  the  gates  of  an  earthly  paradise.  In  those  dark 
alleys  I  would  spend  afternoons  entire,  browsing  among  old 
folios,  following  lines  of  research  that  often  had  no  con- 
nection with  my  courses,  following  them  simply  for  the 
pleasure  of  the  explorer  discovering  new  countries.  I  never 
regret  those  years.  They  made  their  contribution.  Their 
pleasures  were  tranquil  and  pure.  Their  desires  were  simple 
and  all  the  means  of  satisfying  them  were  at  hand." 

With  these  student  years  of  delving  into  obscure  books 
it  is  interesting  to  associate  the  possible  origin  of  the  phrase 
a  "rendezvous  with  death,"  which  is  the  core  of  Seeger's 
poem  best  known  throughout  the  world.  In  "The  Ad- 
vance of  English  Poetry  in  the  Twentieth  Century,"  by 
Professor  Phelps  of  Yale,  there  is  quoted  a  letter  from 
Professor  Robinson  of  Harvard  telling  of  the  strong  im- 
pression made  upon  Seeger  by  the  Irish  "Song  of  Fothad 
Canainne,"  which  he  read  in  a  Celtic  Conference,  a  song 
which  sings:  "It  is  a  blindness  for  one  who  makes  a  tryst 
to  set  aside  the  tryst  with  death."   The  phrase  which  See- 

110 


ALAN    SKKC.KR 

ger  stamped  so  clearly  with  liis  own  mintage  has  been 
ascribed  bv  others  to  other  sonrces.  Bnt  it  is  certainh' 
plausible  that  the  eclio  of  the  early  Irish  singer  may  iiave 
still  rung  in  tlie  ears  of  the  soldier  of  the  T>egion  who  had 
once  been  a  student  in  Harvard  College. 

The  following  passages  from  two  letters  which  Seeger 
wrote  from  ^Mexico  in  the  sunnner  vacation  of  !!)()})  to  his 
friend  and  classmate,  Edward  Eyre  Hunt. show  how  clearly 
conscious  of  his  poetic  ambitions  Seeger  was  even  before 
his  college  years  were  done: 

4a  DE  HuMBoi.uT  i'i.  City  of  Mexico.  Mex. 

August  ^U,  1900. 

Dkak  III  NT : 

.  .  .  My  j)ur{)t)sc  in  writing  you  a^ain  so  soon  is  a  tciitatixc  one; 
I  should  like  to  have  your  opinion  on  an  idea  tliat  occurred  to  nie 
a  while  ago.  Now  I  suppose  all  of  us  who  are  at  present  devoting 
ourselves  to  poetical  expression,  "scorning  delights  and  living  la- 
l)orious  days,"  are  doing  so  with  the  intention  sooner  or  later  of 
collecting  what  seem  to  us  the  best  of  our  })roductions  and  pub- 
lishing them  as  a  first  venture.  It  goes  without  saying  that  indi- 
\i(iually  wc  already  have  a  certain  amount  of  accomplishment 
that  seems  fit  for  such  a  collection,  though  perhaps  not  enouf,'ii 
of  the  l)cs|  to  I'onu  a  N'olume.  lint  I  thought.  wli\'  would  it  not 
]>(•  a  pleasant  tiling  if  a  lialf-do/cn  or  so  of  us  should  couihiuc 
what  seemed  to  us  t  he  Ixst  of  our  work  of  this  kind,  w  hich  is  also 
too  loii;i  fftr  the  connuoii  standard  of  the  college  papers,  and  pub- 
lish it  in  a  sintric  \oluuic,  as  the  achievement  of  the  i)est  talent  of 
the  Class  of  IfllO?  And  not  oidy  this,  hut  call  it  \'ol.  Land  affix 
to  it  a  |)rcfacc,  stating  the  nature  and  purpose  of  the  wink,  and 
exi)ressin^  the  hope  that  it  he  eoiit  uiued  in  ensuing  years.  \\  duld 
not  this  he  soincthinji  like  the  .Nbisenalmauachs  of  (lerinan  Ho- 
niant ieisni?  'I'Im-  ad\anta;:cs  of  the  jilan  secui  to  me  to  he  these: 
First ,  and  most  nnporlani ,  it  would  undiinl)te(|ly  piocun-  a  much 
wider  euenia  t  i(  in,  and  eonse(|ii<>nl  reeo^Mnlion,  of  our  work  than 


ALAN   SEEGER 

any  individual  publication  would.  Secondly,  the  expense  would 
be  mutual,  and  we  would  thereby  be  enabled  to  issue  it  according 
to  our  own  taste,  and  in  fitting  style.  To  ensure  a  certain  amount 
of  circulation  and  returns,  we  could  resort,  if  necessary,  to  pro- 
spectus and  subscription.  Thirdly,  it  would  not  preclude  the 
possibility  of  including  the  same  material  in  our  later  collections, 
should  we  wish  to  do  so.  Fourthly,  it  would  be  an  inestimable 
stimulus  to  serious  literary  effort  among  undergraduates,  would 
be  an  added  bond  between  men  of  such  tastes,  and  in  the  event 
of  anything  resembling  a  "  school "  rising  in  our  midst,  this  would 
be  its  proper  organ.  As  for  a  host  of  minor  advantages,  such  as 
the  pleasure  of  the  undertaking,  these  need  not  be  dwelt  upon. 

Personally  the  idea  appeals  to  me  strongly.  The  contributors, 
as  I  fancy  it,  would  be  solely  members  of  the  graduating  class, 
though  this  need  not  be  insisted  on.  The  work,  as  I  said  before, 
would  be  the  best  individual  effort  of  a  kind  too  long  for  the 
magazines;  its  eligibility  would  be  passed  on  by  the  majority  of 
those  interested. 

The  problem  of  finding  an  audience  is  much  more  difficult  to- 
day than  it  was  a  hundred  years  ago,  for  today  there  is  practi- 
cally no  public  for  poetry  as  there  was  in  those  beloved  times 
when  sentimental  females  hung  upon  the  prolific  muse  of  Byron 
and  Moore,  and  people  watched  the  press  with  as  eager  an  inter- 
est as  today  they  watch  the  stock-exchange.  Indeed,  what  more 
thankless  undertaking  than  to  publish  a  volume  of  verse  now-a- 
days.^  I  should  never  think  of  doing  so  except  privately  printed. 
Happy  was  Keats  whose  early  work  was  loaded  with  contumely, 
compared  with  the  modern  bard  whose  work  is  simply  ignored  or 
else  damned  with  the  faint  praise  of  an  incompetent  reviewer. 
Revilement  is  better  than  total  disregard.  The  Chatterton  whom 
Vigny  pictures  in  his  garret  is  really  more  fortunate  than  his 
present-day  counterpart  who  would  not  even  be  able  to  raise  a 
ripple  of  excitement  on  the  stagnant  waters  of  modern  literary 
enervation.  True,  the  poet's  utterance  should  be  perfectly  spon- 
taneous, unpurposive,  without  a  moment's  consideration  of  the 

112 


ALAN   SEEGER 

world's  opinion,  its  admiration  or  neglect;  and  yet  even  Shelley. 
I  believe,  is  authority  for  the  discouragement  it  is  to  a  m  riter  who 
believes  himself  j)ossessed  of  something  worth  saying,  and  never 
an  ear  to  listen.  Now  this  plan  I  have  been  speaking  of  seems  to 
me  the  best  solution,  for  here  we  could  have  at  once  just  the  audi- 
ence we  desire.  A\'liile  in  a  j)erfectly  disinterested  way.  it  a])i)eals 
to  me  as  the  starting  of  a  tradition  whiih  would  always  be  a 
source  of  delight  and  might  have  nnthought-of  consequences. 

If  this  interests  you,  impart  the  idea  to  some  of  the  other  men. 
Write  me  too  and  say  what  you  think  of  it.  .  .  . 

4a  DE  Humboldt  i'i,  City  of  Mexico, 
7-3()-09. 
Dear  Hint: 

...  1  am  going  to  l)e  in  an  attic  ilown  on  Ash  St.  —  \o.  Hi  — 
next  year,  and  I  hope  you  will  come  around  sometime.  It  has 
neither  heat  nor  light,  exccjjt  what  I  can  furnish  myself,  l)ut  it 
has  a  beautiful  view  of  the  eastern  sky  and  is  perfectly  quiet, 
which  are  far  more  important.  Do  come  around  sometime  and 
let  us  talk  over  the  prospects  of  the  impecunious  poet,  who  hates 
everything  .sordid  and  material,  and  would  prefer  a  gypsy  life  to 
being  chained  down  to  an  office-desk  —  in  Gaza  of  the  Philis- 
tines. You,  of  course,  with  your  reputation,  have,  no  doul)t, 
plenty  of  good  oj)enings;  certainly  you  could  be  a  "young  in- 
structor" f(tr  the  asking.    But  as  for  me  .  .  .  well  — 

forward,  tho  I  canna  see, 
I  guess  and  fear. 

Seeger's  entrance  into  the  life  of  the  College  through  his 
later  years  there  took  the  form  especially  of  freciuent  and 
extensive  contributions  of  verse  to  the  Harvard  Moiifhli/. 
'I'his  j)erio(lical.  no  longer  extant,  was  then  i)a>^ing  through 
a  time  when  its  young  poet.s  were  .scorning  cai)ital  letters 
foi-  tlic  bcginin'ng  of  tlicir  lines  unless  caj)ilals  would  liaA'c 
l»(<'n  rr(|iiir«(l  in  pidx-.    Sccgci-  lent  liini>rn',  probably  with 


ALAN   SEEGER 

enthusiasm,  to  this  bizarrerie  of  print,  which  disappears  even 
from  the  verses  of  undergraduate  days  included  in  the  vol- 
ume of  "Poems,"  for  there  they  are,  three  original  pieces 
of  verse  placed  with  the  surprisingly  mature  "Juvenilia" 
and  a  Canto  of  Dante's  "Inferno"  among  the  "Transla- 
tions." It  is  all  the  work  of  an  ardent  lover  of  beauty  as  an 
end  in  itself,  and  possesses  to  a  striking  degree  that  sensu- 
ous quality  of  beauty  which  marks  the  whole  body  of  See- 
ger's  poetic  writing.  This  contribution  of  poetry  to  the 
college  life  of  Seeger's  undergraduate  years  was  not  one 
that  commanded  popularity  or  prominence,  but  it  was  the 
thing  he  had  to  give,  and  he  gave  it  in  abundant  measure. 
The  value  of  the  gift  is  much  clearer  now  than  it  was  in 
1910. 

A  college  contemporary  of  Seeger's,  John  Hall  Wheelock, 
of  the  Harvard  Class  of  1908,  has  told  in  the  anonymous 
"Point  of  View  "  of  Scribners  Magazine  for  January,  1917, 
of  Seeger's  utter  indifference  to  the  usual  incentives,  even 
of  young  poets.  Large  as  his  acknowledged  output  was,  he 
was  constantly  reputed  to  be  tearing  up  verses,  unseen  by 
his  friends,  because  he  had  not  satisfied  himself  with  them. 
A  publisher  who  offered  to  print  his  poems  soon  after  he 
left  college  is  said  to  have  received  not  even  so  much  as  a 
reply.  Mr.  Wheelock's  descriptions  of  his  first  and  his  last 
meeting  with  Seeger  present  something  both  of  the  out- 
ward and  of  the  inward  aspect  of  the  man: 

Seeger  was  of  striking  appearance.  The  writer  recalls  his  first 
glimpse  of  him  at  a  rather  voluble  meeting  of  one  of  the  literary 
societies  at  Harvard  where  both  were  at  that  time  undergradu- 
ates. Tall  and  rather  sparely  built,  with  a  pale,  but  forceful  and 
strangely  immobile  and  mask-like  face,  straight  black  hair  cut 

114 


ALAN    SEEGER 

square  across  the  forehead,  and  remote  eyes,  he  sat  through  the 
entire  evenini;  in  ahsohite  silence,  hardly  deif^ning  as  much  as  a 
reply  to  questions  directly  put.  At  first  this  might  have  been  at- 
tributed to  either  affectation  t)r  shyness,  but  a  certain  candor 
coui)led  with  entire  self-possession  soon  eliminated  both  solu- 
tions. ( )n  being  questioned  l)y  a  frieiui  at  the  close  of  the  di.scus- 
sion  as  to  his  extraordinary  behavior,  he  announced  with  entire 
naturalness  that  the  conversation  had  not  appealed  to  him,  and 
added  that  he  was  by  nature  not  interested  in  trivial  talk.  This 
episode  was  characteristic  of  the  man  and,  incredible  as  it  may 
.seem,  carried  with  it  no  suggestion  of  conceit  or  pose. 

The  final  meeting  was  three  or  four  years  later,  riius  Mr. 
^^llcelock  records  it: 

I  recall  now  our  last  talk.  It  was  during  the  sunuuer  before 
his  (h'parture  for  Fraiu-e  in  1!)!':.'  and  on  a  perfect  moon-clear 
August  niglit.  I  recall  the  familiar  fatalism  that  he  then  gave 
voice  to.  the  fierce  discontent  and  hunger  of  the  man,  as  of  one 
who  seeks  bliiuily  something  greater  than  him.self,  whereby  he 
nuiy  be  lil)erated,  through  which  he  may  reveal  himself,  to  which 
he  may  con.secrate  and  surrender  his  entire  soul.  I  recall  then 
the  sudden  realization,  new  to  me  at  that  moment,  that  for  .some 
spirits  the  every-day  j)re,ssure  of  life  is  not  sufficient,  the  every- 
day demands  of  life  not  large  nor  heroic  enough  in  tlicir  claim. 
As  for  death  - —  well,  I  recall  also  his  favorite  Indian  phrase,  re- 
|)eat<'d  that  evening,  and  which  sums  up  beautifully  his  own  atti- 
tude: "  I?l•^ll,•lll;dl.  De.'ifli  is  a  transient  tin'iigl" 

lielween  leaving  college  in  1!)1()  and  going  to  Paris  in 
101 '2  Se<'gcr  a])pcars  to  have  led  what  would  commonly  be 
reganh'd  a>  a  life  of  nuich  futility  —  refusing  to  "become 
imi)licate(l  in  any  kind  of  a  job,"  seennng  nu'rely,  as  ^Fr. 
Wlieelock  has  exj)resse(l  it,  "well  on  the  way  toward  be- 
coming a  complete  dih'ttante."    Seeger  himself  knew  well 

1  l.'> 


ALAN   SEEGER 

enough  that  he  was  not  laying  the  foundations  of  the  ''suc- 
cess" he  was  wont  to  scorn.  A  letter  written  at  this  time 
to  a  college  official  with  whom  he  was  on  terms  of  friend- 
ship contained  a  curiously  revealing  and  prophetic  sen- 
tence: "My  only  salvation  will  be  to  die  young  and  to 
leave  some  monument  which  being,  if  such  is  possible,  more 
beautiful  than  the  life  it  commemorates  may  seem  to  pos- 
terity an  only  and  adequate  excuse  for  that  life  having 
been." 

A  friend  of  young  poets,  who  saw  much  of  him  during 
this  New  York  period,  has  written: 

Alan  was  consistently  medieval,  and  although  his  criticism  of 
any  form  of  art  was  surprisingly  keen  he  seemed  completely 
ignorant,  or,  let  me  say,  unconscious  of  everything  that  had  been 
written  during  recent  years.  I  do  not  think  there  was  any  pose 
about  this,  and  I  always  remember  with  amusement  a  Sunday 

afternoon  when  he  and  B both  dropped  in  unexpectedly 

to  supper.  One  kept  asking  if  I  had  seen  the  latest  sonnet  by  so- 
and-so  which  was  quite  worthy  of  Keats,  and  the  other  was  quot- 
ing from  the  Cantique  de  Soleil  of  St.  Francis  and  Claudion's  De 
Raptu  Persephone.  Neither  of  my  guests  seemed  to  have  the 
slightest  comprehension  of  what  the  other  was  talking  about  and 
the  supper  was  an  amusing  affair.  .  .  . 

We  used  to  think  there  was  nothing  human  in  the  boy,  but  one 
night  when  fire  engines  passed  he  threw  open  the  window  and 
put  out  his  head,  after  which  we  commenced  to  have  hope  of  him. 
The  fact  that  he  made  such  a  disagreeable  impression  on  many 
people  was  due,  I  think,  to  his  unconscious  rudeness.  He  was  a 
consistent  hedonist  and  if  someone  who  did  not  seem  to  him 
beautiful,  either  mentally  or  physically,  happened  to  come  in 
while  he  was  with  us  he  would  take  a  book  and  read  until  that 
person  left.  Of  course  his  life  abroad  and  particularly  his  life 
during  the  war  changed  and  developed  him  greatly. 

116 


ALAN    SEE(.ER 

As  "a  consistent  liedonist "  Alan  Seeger  found  in  Paris 
through  the  two  years  before  tlie  war  abundant  opportu- 
nity to  bear  his  part  in  the  vie  de  Bohemc  wliicli  finds  its  re- 
flections in  his  *' Poems."  But  this  was  not  all.  "In  Paris," 
says  ^Ir.  AVlieelock, 

he  was  happier  than  he  had  ever  l>een  before,  lie  made  many 
congenial  friends,  and  a  number  of  distinguished  and  even  cele- 
brated figures  in  the  world  of  art  and  letters  were  strangely 
drawn  to  the  silent  young  American,  who  accepted  this  recog- 
nition with  his  usual  calm  and  poise  as  something  quite  to  be  ex- 
pected. Again,  he  was  said  to  be  writing  much,  but  again  made 
no  efforts  to  publish,  and  his  work  was  hardly  shown  even  to  his 
closest  friends.  He  was  still  uncertain  of  himself  and  his  aims, 
still  waiting  for  that  destiny  which  he  felt  every  day  more  clearly 
and  steadfastly  was  somehow  in  preparation  for  him. 

Seeger's  own  account  of  himself  when  a  "devotee  of 
Learning  for  Learning's  sake"  has  already  been  quoted. 
In  the  same  letter  he  refers  to  his  apostasy  from  Learning, 
his  following  in  the  path  of  those,  "obsessed  by  the  burn- 
ing vision  of  ITa])piness,"  who  "left  the  quiet  groves  of  the 
Academy  and  went  down  into  the  city  in  search  of  it." 
The  innnediately  ensuing  passage  from  the  same  letter, 
written,  let  us  remember,  after  a  year  and  a  half  of  soldier- 
ing, is  needed  to  complete  Seeger's  portrait  of  himself: 

It  li;i>  bccri  the  lii>t()ry  of  many  young  men,  no  douhl.  I^iit 
iii\-  licddiii^in.  if  -ikIi  il  in;iy  lie  called,  was  not  .superficial  like 
lliat  of  so  iiiau^\-,  to  wIkum  I  lie  einolional  means  ()iil\-  (lie  sexual. 
I  was  snl)limely  consisl<rit .  l-'or  seeing,  in  I  lie  macrocosm,  all  Xa- 
tiire  re\()l\-e  ahoiil  llie  twin  poles  of  Lo\-e  and  SI  rile,  ol' at  Irae- 
tioii  and  repulsion,  so  no  less  in  I  lie  niieroeo>ni  ol"  my  indi\'idual 
being  I  saw  tlie  emolional  life  e<|Ually  tlixided  l)etween  tliese  two 
cardinal  j)rinci])les.   Tlie  dedieal ion  lo  bo\ c  al(»ne,  as  ()\  id  prel- 

117 


ALAN   SEEGER 

tily  confesses  his  own  in  more  than  one  elegy,  is  good  as  far  as  it 
goes,  but  it  only  goes  half  way,  and  my  aspiration  was  to  go  all 
the  gamut,  to  "drink  life  to  the  lees."  My  interest  in  life  was 
passion,  my  object  to  experience  it  in  all  rare  and  refined,  in  all 
intense  and  violent  forms.  The  war  having  broken  out,  then,  it 
was  natural  that  I  should  have  staked  my  life  on  learning  what 
it  alone  could  teach  me.  How  could  I  have  let  millions  of  other 
men  know  an  emotion  that  I  remained  ignorant  of.''  Could  not 
the  least  of  them,  then,  talk  about  the  thing  that  interested  me 
most  with  more  authority  than  I?  You  see,  the  course  I  have 
taken  was  inevitable.  It  is  the  less  reason  to  lament  if  it  leads 
me  to  destruction.  The  things  one  poignantly  regrets  are  those 
which  seem  to  us  unnecessary,  which,  we  think,  might  have  been 
different.  This  is  not  my  case.  My  being  here  is  not  an  accident. 
It  is  the  inevitable  consequence,  as  you  see,  of  a  direction  de- 
liberately chosen. 

The  summer  of  1914  found  Seeger  in  London,  where  he 
vainly  sought  a  publisher  for  his  poems.  On  his  way  back 
to  Paris,  when  war  became  a  certainty,  he  left  his  manu- 
script with  a  printer  in  Bruges  —  not  the  most  prudent 
choice  for  safe-keeping  —  expecting  soon  to  reclaim  it  for 
publication.  On  August  20  he  left  Bruges  to  enlist  in  Paris, 
and  on  the  24th  enlisted  in  the  Foreign  Legion.  Near  the 
end  of  the  next  month  he  wrote  to  his  mother  from  Tou- 
louse, where  his  regiment  of  the  Legion  was  drilling: 

I  hope  you  see  the  thing  as  I  do  and  think  that  I  have  done 
well,  being  without  responsibilities  and  with  no  one  to  suffer  ma- 
terially by  my  decision,  in  taking  upon  my  shoulders,  too,  the 
burden  that  so  much  of  humanity  is  suffering  under  and,  rather 
than  stand  ingloriously  aside  when  the  opportunity  was  given 
me,  doing  my  share  for  the  side  that  I  think  right. 

Gratitude  to  Paris  for  all  it  had  meant  to  him  was  a 
powerfully  impelling  motive.    "To  me  the  matter  of  su- 

118 


ALAN   SEEGER 

preme  importance."  he  wrote  in  iiis  diary  after  nearly  a 
year  in  the  army,  "is  not  to  be  on  the  winning  side,  bnt  on 
the  side  where  my  sympathies  lie.  .  .  .  Let  it  always  be  un- 
derstood that  I  never  took  arms  ont  of  any  hatred  against 
Germany  or  the  Germans,  but  j)urely  out  of  love  for 
France."  In  another  ])lace  the  motive  is  given  a  little  dif- 
ferently in  Seeger's  own  accounting  for  the  young  noIuu- 
teers  of  foreign  birth  who  rushed  to  the  French  colors: 

"Why  did  you  enlist.''"  In  every  case  the  answer  was  the 
same.  That  memorable  day  in  August  came.  Suddenly,  the  old 
haunts  were  desolate,  the  boon  companions  had  gone.  It  was  un- 
thinkable to  leave  the  danger  to  them  and  accept  only  the  i)leas- 
ures  oneself,  to  go  on  enjoying  the  sweet  things  of  life  in  defence 
of  which  they  were  perhaps  even  then  shedding  their  blood  in  the 
north.  Some  day  they  would  return,  and  with  honor  —  not  all, 
but  some.  The  old  order  of  things  would  have  irrevocably  van- 
ished. There  would  be  a  new  companionsiiip  whose  bond  would 
be  the  common  danger  run,  the  common  sufferings  borne,  the 
common  glory  shared.  "And  where  have  you  been  all  the  time, 
and  what  have  you  been  doing.' "  The  very  question  would  be  a 
reproach,  though  none  were  intended.  How  could  they  endure 
it.' 

Seeger's  "Letters"  are  as  much  to  be  read  as  his 
"Poems"  for  any  adefjuate  understanding  of  the  wholly 
pagan  and  fatalistic  philosopliy  which  dominated  this  dis- 
ciple of  I  he  absolute  in  beauty  and  freedom.  In  liic  lir>L 
October  of  the  war  he  was  looking,  like  the  rest  of  the 
world,  for  ils  early  Icrmination:  "I  think  you  can  count 
on  seeing  me  at  Fairlea  next  summer,  for  I  shall  certainly 
return  afl<'r  the  war  to  see  you  all  and  recuperate."  Before 
the  cud  of  the  year  lie  was  writing  in  his  tliary:  "I'here 
will  lie  w.ir  foi-  iii.iiiy  years  to  come  in  lOuropc  ;iiid   I  sliall 

111) 


ALAN   SEEGER 

continue  to  be  a  soldier  as  long  as  there  is  war."  As  the 
months  wore  on  it  became  clearer  still  that  a  long  war  lay 
ahead,  but  from  Seeger  came  only  words  of  happiness  that 
he  was  where  he  was,  doing  what  he  did.  That  was  con- 
tinually the  hard  work  of  a  good  soldier,  living  fully  up  to 
his  belief  that  Strife  played  just  as  important  a  part  in  the 
world  as  Love. 

You  must  not  be  anxious  [he  wrote  to  his  mother  in  June  of 
1915]  about  my  not  coming  back.  The  chances  are  about  ten  to 
one  that  I  will.  But  if  I  should  not,  you  must  be  proud,  like  a 
Spartan  mother,  and  feel  that  it  is  your  contribution  to  the  tri- 
umph of  the  cause  whose  righteousness  you  feel  so  keenly.  Every- 
body should  take  part  in  this  struggle  which  is  to  have  so  de- 
cisive an  effect,  not  only  on  the  nations  engaged  but  on  all 
humanity.  There  should  be  no  neutrals  but  everyone  should 
bear  some  part  of  the  burden.  If  so  large  a  part  should  fall  to 
your  share,  you  would  be  in  so  far  superior  to  other  women  and 
should  be  correspondingly  proud.  There  would  be  nothing  to 
regret,  for  I  could  not  have  done  otherwise  than  what  I  did  and 
I  think  I  could  not  have  done  better.  Death  is  nothing  terrible 
after  all.  It  may  mean  something  more  wonderful  than  life.  It 
cannot  possibly  mean  anything  worse  to  the  good  soldier.  So  do 
not  be  unhappy  but  no  matter  what  happens  walk  with  your 
head  high  and  glory  in  your  large  share  of  whatever  credit  the 
world  may  give  me. 

The  quotations  from  Seeger's  "Letters  and  Diary" 
might  be  extended  indefinitely.  They  would  show  him 
with  his  eyes  unfalteringly  fixed  on  the  true  objects  of  the 
conflict,  enjoying  the  loveliness  of  nature  and  the  pleas- 
ures of  human  intercourse  —  such  as  the  meetings  with 
his  fellow  Harvard  graduates  and  legionnaires,  Victor 
Chapman  and  Henry  Farnsworth,  —  reading,   thinking, 

120 


ALAX    SEEGER 

leading  in  general  the  life  ont  of  whieli  sueli  poems  as 
"Champagne  (1914-15),"  "I  Have  a  Rendezvons  with 
Death,"  and  the  "Ode  in  Memory  of  the  American  Volun- 
teers Fallen  for  France"  could  naturally  proceed.  In  the 
matter  of  outward  circumstances,  he  will  be  found  in  the 
front-line  trenches  of  rham])agne  before  the  end  of  Octo- 
ber. 1})14.  on  the  Aisne,  in  Alsace,  in  the  1915-10  Battle  of 
rhami)agne,  sometimes  en  rcpos  back  of  the  lines,  more 
often  at  the  very  front,  slightly  wounded  in  February, 
1915,  and,  much  later,  invalided,  through  bronchitis,  back 
to  Biarritz,  whence  he  wrote  to  his  mother  in  March  of 
191(): 

I  hope  you  got  my  letters  from  the  hospital  soon  enough  to  be 
reassured  about  my  not  being  at  A'erdun.  Of  course,  to  me  it  is  a 
matter  of  great  regret  and  I  take  it  as  a  piece  of  hard  luck. . . .  All 
climates  are  alike  to  me,  but  the  best  now  are  those  that  smell  of 
powder  in  the  day  and  are  lit  by  the  fusees  eclairantes  at  night. 

Back  at  the  Somme  front  he  wrote  significantly,  to  his 
marraine  on  June  1,  191(): 

The  noticeal>lc  young  man  you  describe  as  liaving  seen  at 
Lavenue's  was  probably  myself,  for  it  was  my  pleasure  in  those 
days  to  be  noticeal)le  just  as  now  it  is  exactly  the  opposite. 
Wliere  once  it  was  my  object  to  be  individual,  it  is  now  an  even 
greater  satisfaction  to  merjie  into  the  whole,  and  feeling  myself 
the  smallest  eog  in  the  mi^Mity  maciiinery  that  is  grinding  out 
tiie  future  of  llie  world,  whatever  that  is  to  be. 

These  woids  were  writ  Icii  innnediately  after  Seeger's  en- 
tirely lium.iii  <lisaj)|)()int  incut  at  being  so  nnich  a  cog  in  the 
macliine  lli;il  lie  failed  1o  recei\-c  liis  prnnis'sion  to  go  to 
l*aii->  and  read  in  |)nblic  lli^  "0(h'  in  Memory  of  the  Ameri- 
can   \(»luntcer.s    I'allcn    lor    I'rance"  —  one   of    llic   small 


ALAN   SEEGER 

number  of  really  beautiful  poems  brought  forth  by  the 
war.  Another  poem,  his  last,  a  sonnet  in  which  he  looked 
beyond  the  days  of  war,  was  enclosed  in  a  letter  to  his 
7narraine  written  June  21,  1916,  the  day  before  his  twenty- 
eighth  birthday.  He  had  been  looking  forward  eagerly  to 
participation  in  a  great  attack,  and  continued  so  to  do. 
There  was  not  long  to  wait.  For  several  days  he  and  his 
comrades  were  on  the  tiptoe  of  expectation.  Seeger's 
friend  and  fellow  legionnaire,  Rif  Baer,  an  Egyptian,  has 
described  the  final  scenes.   This  was  the  last  of  all: 

About  four  o'clock  the  order  came  to  get  ready  for  the  attack. 
None  could  help  thinking  of  what  the  next  few  hours  would 
bring.  One  minute's  anguish  and  then,  once  in  the  ranks,  faces 
became  calm  and  serene,  a  kind  of  gravity  falling  upon  them, 
while  on  each  could  be  read  the  determination  and  expectation 
of  victory.  Two  battalions  were  to  attack  Belloy-en-Santerre, 
our  company  being  the  reserve  of  battalion.  The  companies 
forming  the  first  wave  were  deployed  on  the  plain.  Bayonets 
glittered  in  the  air  above  the  corn,  already  quite  tall. 

The  first  section  (Alan's  section)  formed  the  right  and  van- 
guard of  the  company  and  mine  formed  the  left  wing.  After  the 
first  bound  forward,  we  lay  flat  on  the  ground,  and  I  saw  the  first 
section  advancing  beyond  us  and  making  toward  the  extreme 
right  of  the  village  of  Belloy-en-Santerre.  I  caught  sight  of  See- 
ger  and  called  to  him,  making  a  sign  with  my  hand. 

He  answered  with  a  smile.  How  pale  he  was!  His  tall  sil- 
houette stood  out  on  the  green  of  the  cornfield.  He  was  the 
tallest  man  in  his  section.  His  head  erect,  and  pride  in  his  eye,  I 
saw  him  running  forward,  with  bayonet  fixed.  Soon  he  disap- 
peared and  that  was  the  last  time  I  saw  my  friend. 

The  village  of  Belloy-en-Santerre  was  taken,  though 
Seeger,  fallen,  July  4,  1916,  among  the  first  in  the  attack, 
could  but  cheer  his  comrades  on  as  they  dashed  past  the 

122 


A  LAX    SEEGER 

sj)ot  whoro  lie  lay  dyinji'.  The  fourth  stroi)he  of  the  Me- 
morial Day  Ode  which  he  ilid  not  read  in  Paris  should  be 
read  when  he  and  other  American  volunteers  of  the  earlier 
days  of  the  war  are  renienihered: 

()  t'rifiujsl    1  know  not  >\\hv  that  war  began 

From  w liich  no  people  nobly  stands  aloof 

If  in  all  moments  we  have  given  proof 

Of  virtues  that  were  thought  American. 

I  know  not  if  in  all  things  done  and  said 

All  has  been  well  and  good, 

Or  if  each  one  of  us  can  hold  his  head 

As  proudly  as  he  should, 

( )i\  from  the  pattern  of  those  mighty  dead 

Whose  shades  our  country  venerates  today, 

If  \ve'\e  not  somewhat  fallen  and  somewhat  gone  astray. 

lint  you  to  whom  our  land's  good  name  is  dear, 

W  there  be  any  here 

Who  wonder  if  her  manhood  be  decreased, 

Relaxed  its  sinews  and  its  blood  less  red 

Than  that  at  Shiloh  and  Antietam  shed. 

Be  proud  of  these,  have  joy  in  this  at  least. 

And  (TV :  "Xow  heaven  be  praised 

That  in  that  hour  that  most  imperilled  her. 

Menaced  her  liberty  who  foremost  raised 

Euroi)e's  bright  flag  of  freedom,  some  there  were 

A\'lio,  not  uiMuindfnl  of  the  anti(|ue  debt, 

(aine  liack  the  generous  path  of  Lafayette; 

And  when  of  a  most  formidahle  foe 

Slie  eheeked  each  onset,  arduous  to  stem  — 

Foiled  and  frustrated  thcin 

On  those  red  fiehjs  when'  Mow   with  furious  blow 

\\ii>  countenMl.  whether  lli<-  gigantic  fray 

Itolled  l>y  the  Meuse  or  at   the  Hois  Sabot, 

Aeeents  of  ours  were  in  the  fierce  melee; 


ALAN    SEEGER 

And  on  those  furthest  rims  of  hallowed  ground 
Where  the  forlorn,  the  gallant  charge  expires, 
When  the  slain  bugler  has  long  ceased  to  sound. 
And  on  the  tangled  wires 
The  last  wild  rally  staggers,  crumbles,  stops, 
Withered  beneath  the  shrapnel's  iron  showers :  — 
Now  heaven  be  thanked,  we  gave  a  few  brave  drops; 
Now  heaven  be  thanked,  a  few  brave  drops  were  ours. 


IIE\1{Y   AT  GISTI  S   COIT 


Class  of  1910 


xIenhy  Augustus  Coit,  horn  al  Coiicortl,  New  Hainp- 
sliiro,  "May  '2('k  1H8S,  was  the  only  rln'ld  of  J()s('i)li  TTowland 
Coit.  president  of  tlic  New  "NOrk  puhlisliin"^  lionse  of  Mof- 
fat, ^'ard  and  Company,  antl  Adeline  (BalclO  Coit.  His 
father's  father  wa>  tlic  \{v\ .  Henry  A.  Coit,  fir.st  rector  of 
St.  Paid's  Sehool,  Concord;  his  mother's  father  was  the 
Rev.   Canon    Lewi.>.    Halch,   once   rector   of   Si.    liarlholo- 


HENRY   AUGUSTUS   COIT 

mew's  Church,  New  York  City,  and  for  many  years  Secre- 
tary of  the  House  of  Bishops  of  the  Protestant  Episcopal 
Church. 

The  boy  received  his  preparation  for  Harvard  College  at 
St.  Paul's,  and  in  the  autumn  of  1906  entered  college  with 
the  Class  of  1910.  He  remained  at  Harvard  only  two  years. 
In  the  first  of  these  he  was  captain  of  the  freshman  crew, 
having  brought  with  him  from  Concord  the  interest  and 
skill  in  rowing  which  St.  Paul's  has  done  so  much  to  de- 
velop. 

In  the  seven  years  between  leaving  college  in  1908  and 
joining  the  British  Army  in  Canada,  Henry  Coit  was  em- 
ployed in  New  Y^ork  State  and  Pennsylvania,  by  the  Long 
Island  Railroad  Company  and  the  Good  Roads  Machinery 
Company,  and  on  a  ranch  in  Klickitat  County,  Washing- 
ton. In  his  turning  from  these  pursuits  to  that  of  a  soldier 
in  the  fight  against  Germany  a  succinct  explanation  is  to 
be  found  in  a  letter  to  his  mother  from  the  "sister  in 
charge"  at  the  hospital  in  which  he  died:  "I  asked  him 
once,"  wrote  this  Canadian  nurse,  "how  it  happened  he 
was  out  fighting  with  us,  coming  from  U.S.A."  "Our  fight, 
too,"  was  his  answer. 

His  military  record  is  brief.  On  December  15,  1915,  he 
enlisted  at  Montreal  as  a  private  in  the  Fifth  University 
Overseas  Company  of  Princess  Patricia's  Canadian  Light 
Infantry  —  the  only  American  in  his  company.  From  this 
date  until  March  15,  1916,  he  was  in  training  at  Montreal. 
On  March  30  he  sailed  for  England  on  the  Olympic,  con- 
voyed by  British  warships,  with  his  company  and  five  thou- 
sand other  Canadian  troops  and  eighty  nurses.  From  April 
10  to  June  1  he  was  in  training  for  the  front  at  Shorncliffe 

K6 


HENRY    AlC.rSTrS    C(UT 

—  East  and  West  Sancllin^'.  From  East  SaiuUing-  he  wrote 
home  on  May  ^7:  "Today  six  of  ns  pottered  about  digging 
up  httle  bits  of  grass  around  the  officers'  quarters,  and  we 
varied  the  programme  somewhat.  l>y  kilhng  sixteen  rats, 
but  wlien  one  is  longing  to  get  to  France,  grass  jMdling.  rat 
kilhng,  and  baseball  are  hardly  satisfactory."  Again  on 
May  ;>]  he  wrote:  "I'he  officers  we  have  met  here  are 
splendid  fellows,  most  of  them.  It  is  my  luck  to  be  asked 
when  I  am  going  to  get  a  conunission  —  but  if  you  could 
see  some  of  the  young  stiffs  that  have  commissions,  you 
would  be  tickled  to  death  that  I  hadn't  one,  and  I  feel  if  I 
get  recommended  for  a  commission  at  the  front,  that's  well 
and  good  —  but  T  don't  want  it  on  pull.  I  think  I  would 
regret  any  step  that  separated  me  from  my  company,  any- 
way, and  it  is  one  of  the  things  I  look  forward  to,  fighting 
side  by  side  with  some  of  my  pals  to  help  put  the  Germans 
where  they  belong.  And  I  won't  put  on  paper  where  they 
should  be. 

"  I  am  longing  to  go  to  F^rance,  and  I  '11  do  my  bit  the 
best  I  can." 

From  June  5  to  Jidy  .3  he  served  in  the  trenches  at  the 
front,  exce])t  for  days  in  billet  back  of  the  line.  On  July  ^2 
he  was  struck  by  a  motor  lorry  near  Ypres,  and  "danger- 
ously wounded"  through  compound  fractures  of  both 
knees.  On  July  5  he  was  taken  to  the  Third  Canadian 
Clearing  Station  at  Remy  Siding  near  Poperinghe.  I  Fere, 
.iflcr  intense  suffering,  his  right  leg  was  amj)utat<'d  on 
Augu>l  1.  tlic  earliest  time  at  which  the  surgeons  Ijclieved 
him  strong  enough  to  stand  the  operation.  Here.  <m 
August   7,  his  left   leg  was  also  am|)utat('d.  and  at    niiu' 


o'clock  t  lijit  uiglil  he  died. 


]^>: 


HENRY   AUGUSTUS   COIT 

When  his  parents  in  America  heard  of  his  injuries,  they 
sailed  at  once  for  Europe,  hoping  to  help  him  in  person.  In 
London  they  received  bulletins  of  his  condition,  especially 
from  a  Church  of  England  chaplain  who  was  constantly 
seeing  their  son  in  the  hospital.  On  August  3  he  tele- 
graphed himself  to  his  father  a  message  of  affection  and 
pleasure  that  they  were  so  near  him.  In  London  they  re- 
ceived the  news  of  his  death.  Since  then  they  have  printed 
a  small  volume  containing  a  number  of  letters  from  the 
chaplain  and  others  who  ministered  to  Henry  Coit  in  the 
last  month  of  his  life.  If  it  was  denied  him  to  show  his 
qualities  in  battle  with  the  enemy,  they  were  memorably 
displayed  in  his  fight  with  suffering.  This  is  what  the 
"sister  in  charge"  wrote,  in  part,  about  him: 

I  want  to  tell  you  that  among  the  wonderful,  brave  men  that 
came  to  us  here,  your  son  stands  almost  preeminent.  And  every 
one  that  came  in  contact  with  him  says  the  same  thing. 

He  ever  had  a  ready  smile  and  answer,  and  even  at  the  worst 
moments  never  lost  his  courage  or  courtesy  for  a  second.  Only 
a  few  days  ago,  he  said  to  me,  "You  will  have  to  lunch  or  dine 
with  me  when  we  get  back  to  New  York,  sister  "  (though  a  Ca- 
nadian, my  nursing  life  was  in  New  York  City),  "if  you  don't 
mind  going  somewhere  with  an  old  cripple." 

So  often,  when  he  was  having  a  hard  time,  I  have  said  I  was 
sorry,  or  it  was  too  bad,  or  some  such  thing,  and  he  would  answer 
with  his  winning  smile,  "Never  mind,  sister,  it  is  all  in  the  old 
game!" 

Never  once  did  I  hear  him  utter  a  complaint  or  regret.  And 
we  all  loved  the  way,  when  we  got  him  fruit  or  such,  how  he  al- 
ways wanted  to  share  it  with  the  others.  So  many  who  passed 
through  the  ward  when  he  was  there  have  written  to  ask  about 
him,  and  so  many  P.  P.  C.  L.  I.'s  have  called  to  inquire  about 
him. 

128 


HENRY  Arr.rsTUS  COIT 

Anotlier  l)it  of  testimony  is  found  in  an  ''Extract  from 
a  letter  from  one  of  the  staff  attached  to  the  Casualty 
Clearing  Station": 

The  boy,  Coit,  whom  you  mention  was  here  with  us  for  more 
than  four  weeks  —  from  the  time  he  was  wounded.  Every  day  I 
saw  and  spoke  to  him.  He  was  the  «;amest  lad  I  have  ever  seen  in 
all  my  experience  with  boys.  He  was  a  standing  rebuke  to  those 
silly  persons  who  siigfjjest  that  Americans  are  lacking  in  courage. 
Sisters,  surgeons,  all  of  us  loved  that  lad.  In  spite  of  suffering  he 
always  smiled.  There  was  never  a  complaint  or  grumble  from 
his  lips.  .  .  .  That  lad  had  blood  and  breeding.  I  have  never  seen 
such  another  case  of  heroism  as  his. 

One  night  they  thought  he  was  dying,  and  1  went  into  the 
ward  where  he  was.  Screens  had  been  put  about  his  bed.  The 
chaplain  sat  by  his  side,  holding  his  hand  and  repeating  prayers. 
The  nursing  sister,  who  had  been  at  the  front  from  the  first,  was 
bathing  his  forehead,  and  weeping  like  a  child.  When  the  prayers 
ceased,  Coit  spoke  about  arrangements  for  his  funeral.  He  was 
calmly  heroic.  He  did  not  go  then,  but  about  two  weeks  later.  .  . 

Young  Coit's  parents  have  every  reason  to  be  proud  of  such  a 
son.  For  the  last  three  weeks  of  his  life  it  was  his  soul  that  kept 
his  body  going.    He  had  ab.solutely  no  fear  of  death. 

Yes,  Coit  was  the  bravest  lad  I  have  ever  known. 

"Tie  never  regrett<ul  his  coming  over  here,"  his  friend 
the  {•liai)lain  wrote,  "in  spite  of  the  accident  which  re- 
sulted"; and  for  tlie  future  —  "he  was  ready  to  face  it." 
Hi-  body  was  l)uried  in  the  nearby  cemetery  on  the  Poi)er- 
inghe  IJoeschepe  road. 


ROBERT  EDOUARD   PELLISSIER 


Class  of  1904 


xloBERT  Pellissier  was  both  a  native  and  a  citizen 
of  France.  Having  left  France  for  America  with  his  mother 
before  he  was  fourteen,  and  having  returned  to  his  country 
but  twice  as  a  visitor,  he  was  exempt  by  law  from  military 
service;  but  the  same  spirit  which  had  held  him  from 
changing  his  French  for  American  citizenship  led  him,  im- 
mediately upon  the  coming  of  war,  to  sail  for  France  and 
offer  himself  to  its  army.  Just  before  sailing,  in  August  of 
1914,  he  wrote  in  a  letter:  "I  don't  know  what  use  the 
Republic  can  make  of  me,  but  '  all  men  are  needed '  is  the 
constant  cry,  and  so,  by  Jove,  I  see  no  way  out  which  does 
not  mean  the  giving  up  of  the  prerogatives  and  privileges 
which  go  with  the  name  man  synonymous  with  gentle- 


man. 


130 


ROBERT   EDOIARD    PELLISSIER 

His  love  of  France  was  deeply  rooted  in  his  nature.  He 
was  born,  ^Nfay  \-2.  188*2,  at  La  Ferriere-sous-Joiigne, 
Doubs,  in  the  Jura  ^Mountains.  '"The  severe  and  almost 
tragic  beauty  of  the  fir-tree  forests,  extending  for  miles 
over  the  mountain-sides"  -  ouv  of  liis  sisters  has  written 
—  "was  so  strongly  stam})ed  on  his  memory  that  he  al- 
ways longed  for  fir-clad  mountains  and  loved  those  land- 
scapes best  wliicli  came  nearest  to  tliis  type  of  natural 
beauty."  His  j)arents  were  Marcel  and  Emma  (Testuz) 
Pellissier  —  of  substantial  stock,  with  manufacturers, 
lawyers,  and  the  critic,  Georges  Pellissier,  on  the  father's 
side,  and  Protestant  ministers,  army  officers,  and  a  botanist 
of  note,  on  the  mother's.  The  father.  Marcel  Pellissier, 
su])erintendent  of  a  wire  and  nail  factory  at  La  Ferriere, 
was  himself  an  ardent  patriot,  devoted  to  the  Huguenot 
traditions  of  his  family.  He  died  when  Robert,  the  young- 
est of  seven  children,  was  only  six  years  old,  but  the  boy 
soon  took  to  questioning  the  older  brothers  and  sisters 
about  their  father  and  his  teachings.  What  he  learned  is 
suggested  by  these  words  of  his  sister's  concerning  their 
life  at  La  Ferriere: 

ill  tliis  Roman  ("atliolic  community  our  family  was  the  only 
one  wliic-h  was  of  Huguenot  ancestry,  and  as  the  only  Protestant 
cliurcli  was  several  miles  distant,  our  father,  in  his  own  way,  gave 
us  reli^'ious  training.  In  summer,  on  Siiiuhiy,  when  the  weather 
was  fair,  he  often  took  us  (o  a  part  of  the  forest  where  old  fir- 
trees,  staruling  wide  ai)arl,  Irft  an  ojicii  spaee  as  dark  and  mys- 
terious as  a  cathedral,  and  Ihcrc  he  would  read  to  us  either  a 
psalm  of  David  or  a  jiassa^'c  from  llic  (iosjx'ls,  and  the  reading 
over,  he  would  Idl  us  how,  in  oid<'n  limes,  oiir  Huj^Mieiiot  ances- 
tors had  f(iiiL.'lil  for  tlicir  faith  and  Imw  for  centuries  before  the 
great  French   Rc\ oliit  ion,  t  lic_\    jiad   pra_\cd  and   worshipped  in 


ROBERT   EDOUARD   PELLISSIER 

the  wilderness,  in  some  clearing  or  by  the  side  of  a  stream.  .  .  . 
The  whole  trend  of  this  religious  instruction  was  that  external 
ceremonies  are  of  but  little  importance  and  that  the  spiritual  side 
of  worship  is  the  main  thing. 

The  son's  inheritance  of  the  father's  love  for  France  re- 
vealed itself  in  a  manner  peculiarly  French  while  Robert 
Pellissier  was  still  a  boy.  After  his  father's  death  he  went 
with  his  mother  to  Geneva,  where  they  lived,  and  he  went 
to  school,  for  a  few  years.  The  suburb  in  which  they  made 
their  home  was  very  near  the  French  border,  and  it  is  told 
that  "he  never  spent  a  day  without  at  least  putting  his 
foot  on  French  soil,"  Such  a  Frenchman,  grown  to  man- 
hood, could  not  help  returning  to  fight  for  la  patrie. 

All  the  intervening  years,  except  for  travel,  w^ere  spent 
in  America.  He  passed  his  fourteenth  birthday,  in  1896,  on 
a  steamer  of  the  French  Line  bearing  him  and  his  mother 
to  share  the  family  life,  in  Brooklyn,  of  one  of  his  sisters 
who  was  married.  After  three  years  in  the  Brooklyn  pub- 
lic schools,  for  which  he  prepared  himself  in  English  during 
the  summer  holidays  by  translating  "A  Tale  of  Two  Cit- 
ies" both  literally  and  idiomatically  into  French,  he  en- 
tered the  Bridgewater  (Massachusetts)  State  Normal 
School.  A  four  years'  course  of  study  there  (1899-1903) 
enabled  him  to  enter  the  Senior  Class  of  the  Lawrence 
Scientific  School  at  Harvard,  on  a  Normal  School  Scholar- 
ship, in  the  autumn  of  1903.  When  he  and  an  Irish  friend 
who  had  come  w^ith  him  from  Bridgew^ater  to  Cambridge 
first  looked  at  the  Harvard  Commencement  Day  pro- 
gramme in  the  following  June  they  were  dismayed  at  not 
finding  their  names  at  once  among  the  recipients  of  de- 
grees —  but  only,  as  they  soon  learned  with  infinite  relief, 

132 


ROBERT   EDOIARD    PELLISSIER 

because  they  appeared  on  a  later  ])age  of  the  pamphlet 
among  those  to  whom  Honors  had  been  awarded. 

Looking  upon  the  work  whieh  had  won  him  his  S.B.  de- 
gree as  preparatory  to  the  stutly  of  medicine,  Pellissier  be- 
came a  teacher  of  French,  and  incidentally  of  biology,  at 
AVilliston  Academy,  Easthampton,  Massachusetts,  in  order 
to  earn  the  requisite  funds.  After  a  year  of  teaching  a 
threat  of  tuberculosis  showed  him  not  only  that  his 
strength  was  inadequate  to  the  arduous  studies  for  the 
medical  profession  but  that  he  nuist  devote  a  year  to  es- 
tablishing his  health  for  advanced  work  of  a  less  exacting 
nature,  in  Romance  Languages.  This  he  did  with  complete 
success,  partly  in  France,  ])artly  in  "Western  Massachu- 
setts, and  in  a  manner  which  caused  a  Williston  colleague 
to  write  after  his  death:  "The  fight  he  made  against  in- 
sidious tuberculosis  was  heroic.  It  was  an  earnest  of  the 
valor  which  for  two  resolute  years  just  closed  he  mani- 
fested on  the  Western  front  in  France." 

In  1908  he  resigned  his  ])osition  at  Williston  and  entered 
the  Ciraduate  School  of  Arts  and  Sciences  at  Harvard  as  a 
student  of  Romance  Languages.  On  winning  his  A.M.  de- 
gree in  1!)01),  he  went  to  Iceland  Stanford  Jr.  I^niversity  for 
a  year  imder  ji  fellowship  as  a  graduate  student,  serving  at 
the  sa!ii('  time  as  instructor  in  Romanic  Languages.  At 
the  cikI  of  tluil  academic  year  he  came  back  to  Cambridge, 
via  the  west  coast,  Mexico,  and  Xcw  Orleans,  and  reentered 
the  (Graduate  School.  In  1!)1.'J  he  received  the  degree  of 
I'll.!).  II i^  tlicsis,  "The  Neo-Classic  AFovement  in  Spain 
during  the  Kighteenlii  ('enlury,"  has  since  been  published 
by  Leliiiid  Sl.iiit'ord  Jr.  Lniversit.w  with  ;iii  inlroducl  ion 
by  l*rofe>.s(jr  (iiiindgenl .     Ills  letters  fr(jui  I  lie  lioiil  .>ho\v 


ROBERT   EDOUARD   PELLISSIER 

that  this  was  not  his  last  piece  of  scholarly  production.  On 
July  19,  1915,  he  wrote:  "Did  you  see  my  book?  The  Ox- 
ford Press,  American  Branch,  New  York,  sent  me  a  copy 
of  it.  My  sister  did  all  the  proof-reading,  so  there  are  no 
mistakes  in  spelling.  Thanks  to  her  and  to  me  the  Great 
American  Public  has  now  a  School  Edition  of  Racine's 
Berenice.  I  may  make  five  dollars  on  it,  this  coming  aca- 
demic year;  nothing  like  the  prospect  of  great  wealth  to 
make  life  rosv." 

t- 

After  a  pleasure  trip  through  France  and  Spain  in  the 
summer  of  1913,  Pellissier  entered  again  upon  the  teaching 
of  Romance  Languages  at  Leland  Stanford  Jr.,  and  had 
performed  this  work  for  a  year  and  received  his  appoint- 
ment as  Assistant  Professor  when  the  war  came.  The 
spirit  in  which  he  took  the  responsibilities  it  imposed  upon 
him  has  already  been  indicated.  On  leave  of  absence  from 
the  University,  extended  to  cover  the  brief  remainder  of 
his  life,  he  offered  himself  for  military  service  in  France 
just  as  soon  as  the  long  journey  from  California  would  per- 
mit. Two  months  of  military  drill  at  Besangon,  in  his  na- 
tive department  of  Doubs,  placed  him  in  the  Fifth  Bat- 
talion of  the  chasseurs  a  pied  —  an  elite  branch  of  the 
French  Army,  distinguished  from  the  line  infantry,  the 
pilous,  who  were  expected  to  march  about  eighteen  miles 
a  day,  by  a  corresponding  expectation,  as  he  once  ex- 
pressed it,  "to  go  as  much  as  thirty  with  the  whole  load." 
Though  not  trained,  like  the  chasseurs  alpins,  primarily  for 
mountain  service,  the  regiment  of  "Blue  Devils"  to  which 
Pellissier  belonged  was  ordered  at  once  to  the  Vosges,  a 
region  in  which  his  early  delight  in  the  novels  of  Erckmann- 
Chatrian  gave  him  a  special  interest.   Here  he  took  part  in 

134 


ROHERT    EDOr.VRD    PELLTSSIER 

trench  warfare  of  the  most  exacting  nature  until,  at  the  end 
of  January,  1915,  near  Steinhach,  lie  was  wounded  in  the 
shoulder.  'IMiough  his  wound  was  healed  after  four  months 
in  liospital.  the  condition  of  his  shoulder  would  not  permit 
him  to  carry  a  knapsack.  Accordin«i;ly.  he  determined  to 
])repare  himself  for  a  counnission,  passed  the  examinations 
for  the  ofhcers'  trainin<jf  school  at  Saint-]\raixent,  where  he 
s])ent  four  months  of  study,  returning  to  the  front  before 
the  end  of  1})1.5  with  the  grade  of  sergeant,  l)ut  so  well  pre- 
pared for  the  connnission  he  was  soon  to  receive  that  in 
the  absences  of  a  lieutenant  he  acted  for  weeks  at  a  time  in 
his  ])lace.  Tlis  first  service,  after  his  long  absence  from  the 
front  was  again  in  Alsace  and  in  the  neighborhood  of  Ver- 
dun during  the  most  savage  fighting  of  the  early  months  of 
l!)l(i.  His  battalion  left  the  mountains  before  the  end  of 
June,  and  before  the  end  of  August  was  helping  to  fight  the 
Battle  of  the  Sonnne,  and  was  in  constant  action  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Peronne.  Here,  on  August  29,  Pellissier 
was  killed  at  ("lery.  On  August  11  he  had  written  a  friend 
as  follows: 

It  seems  that  we  are  going  to  attack  and  I  do  not  wish  to  take 
part  in  this  affair  without  writing  a  few  words  to  you.  It  is  per- 
fectly possil)le  that  I  may  come  out  unscathed,  like  many  others, 
lull  it  is  ;il>()  possible  that  I  may  not.  I  am  writing  to  my  brother 
•John,  a  letter  of  general  interest.  If  I  should  not  come  baek,  you 
wouhl  tell  him,  that  to  tlic  last  my  thoughts  were  with  him  and 
with  our  taiiiily  in  .Vmerica  and  also  that  I  do  not  regret  the 
<-hoicc  I  made  in  returning  to  France.  This  will  .seem  very  foolish 
if  tomorrow  or  the  da.\'  after  I  slioidd  return  as  usual,  liul  you 
\\\\\  cerlaiiilx  nnd<-rstand  that  at  this  time  I  cannot  retrain  IVom 
lo<»king  at  all  the  possihililies  and  he  sih-nl. 


l.'J.> 


ROBERT   EDOUARD   PELLISSIER 

It  was  not  "tomorrow,"  but  early  in  the  morning  of  "the 
day  after"  that  he  received  the  wound  from  which  he  died 
before  night.  His  battahon  had  been  relieved,  and  to  him 
was  assigned  the  task,  usually  an  officer's,  of  remaining  in 
the  sector  when  all  his  comrades  had  left  and  giving  the 
countersign  to  those  who  were  to  take  their  places.  While 
thus  alone  he  was  shot  through  the  chest  by  the  ball  of  a 
mitrailleuse,  fulfilling  his  duty  in  a  post  of  trust. 

This  brave  soldier  was  primarily  an  intellectual,  and  a 
humanist.  The  volume  of  "Letters  from  a  Chasseur  a  Pied: 
Robert  Pellissier,"  printed  for  his  sister.  Miss  Adeline  Pel- 
lissier  in  1917,  reveals  him  clearly  in  this  light.  It  contains 
many  passages  describing  life  in  the  French  Army  as  many 
other  soldiers  saw  it.  It  discloses  also  the  individual  point 
of  view  of  a  thoughtful,  cultivated  man,  and  the  few  quo- 
tations from  it  for  which  a  place  may  here  be  found  are 

chosen  with  this  end  in  view: 

September  U,  1914. 

Several  hundred  thousand  men  have  just  been  killed  or  are 
exposed  to  imminent  death.  Yet  the  thousands  who  remain  are 
calm  and  follow  their  daily  routine.  I  understand  why  a  great 
patriotic  drama  is  hardly  ever  immortalized  through  an  artistic 
interpretation  at  the  time  it  took  place.  Did  the  poets  of  the 
fifteenth  century  have  any  inkling  of  what  Joan  of  Arc  was  to 
mean  to  posterity.?  Perspective  is  lacking.  It  is  only  later,  much 
later,  that  people  come  to  realize  that  the  fate  of  a  nation  de- 
pended upon  a  certain  event. 

October  12,  19U. 

Everything  would  be  satisfactory  were  it  not  that  yesterday 
while  taking  a  leap,  the  last  one  in  the  drill,  I  hurt  my  knee, 
bruising  it  badly;  now  it  is  swollen.  The  medical  examiner  hav- 
ing sent  me  to  the  infirmary,  I  witnessed  the  cleaning  of  a  wound. 
I  had  to  leave  the  ward  and  on  reaching  the  corridor  I  fainted, 

136 


ROBERT    EDOIARD    PELLISSIER 

falling'  on  the  floor  full  length.  The  worst  of  it  is  that  this  acci- 
dent has  taken  away  my  self-confidence  —  my  knee,  the  rain, 
the  straw,  the  rememl)rance  of  my  mishap,  —  all  these  things 
depress  me  more  than  I  can  tell.   What  shall  I  do  in  the  trenches? 

Christmas,  191  If. 

Men  become  religious  in  war  time.    On  Christmas  day  our 

officers  went  to  mass  in  state  and  style.    Yesterday  I  had  some 

fun  watching  \arious  kinds  of  chasseurs  and  dragoons  and  nuile- 

teers  and  artillery  men  sneaking  into  the  church,  coming  by  the 

back  way  and  progressing  cautiously  and  .somewhat  sheei)ishly 

towards  the  church,  opening  the  door  .stealthily  and  entering 

crab  fashion.    Bold  l)ad  boys  in  ordinary  times  and  weather,  but 

made  meek  by  the  events. 

January  IJf,  1915. 

I  am  glad  you  heard  Brieux.  I  have  read  about  ten  of  his 
plays.  I  always  liked  him  because  of  his  virility.  He  stands  in 
fine  contrast  with  a  good  many  of  our  modern  writers  who  are 
altogether  too  supple.  From  a  moral  standpoint  I  hate  flabbi- 
ness.    I  am  more  of  a  Huguenot  than  most  people  think. 

January  '2S,  lUlo. 

The  French  are  a  pretty  brave  race,  believe  me,  and  the  only 

real  darn  f(M)ls  in  the  lot  are  those  who  ^w'xie  novels  about  them. 

If  I  ever  get  back  to  Stanford  I  shall  give  a  course  on  the  French 

novel  with  a  view  to  rclial)ilitating  the  race.    I  am  putting  all 

manner  of  curious  and  interesting  facts  in  my  diary,  which  one 

hundred  years  from  now  should  be  worth  millions  of  dollars  from 

an  historical  standjjoiiit. 

February  7,  l'.H.'>. 

Since  I  have  been  liere  tlie  (ieniians  attacked  twice,  and  got 
I  heir-,  richly  eacli  I  iiiie.  The  lii'^t  liiiM'  was  on  I  lie  Kaiser's  birth- 
(l;iy  ;in(|  I  liey  came  up  by  fours,  shouting  drunk  and  izol  cleaned 
ont.  Tlie  ^-ccond  time  tliey  caMK'  in  hordes,  rushed  two  trenches 
and  pincliccl  ;i  rajiid  lire  i:nn,  w  liereii|)i)ii  our  conunaiider  came 
along,  drew  his  re\  ol\ cr  and  my  friemls  charged  w  it  li  him,  kicked 

137 


ROBERT   EDOUARD    PELLISSIER 

the  Dutch  out  of  the  trenches,  got  hold  of  the  machine  gun  and 
made  a  lot  of  prisoners.  I  have  been  told  that  the  ground  in 
front  of  the  trenches  is  gray  with  German  uniforms.  One  of  our 
captains  wept  when  he  saw  the  slaughter  of  Germans,  for  young 
men  are  young  men,  even  when  they  are  Germans.  These  slaugh- 
ters take  place  at  dusk  or  at  night.    Such  is  war,  Tim! 

February  11,  1915. 

For  a  decadent  race,  the  French  are  doing  well;  but  good 
Heavens,  what  a  futile  and  a  criminal  thing  war  is.  No  one  who 
has  not  seen  it  can  realize  how  wicked  it  is.  Only  an  ass  or  a 
bandit  can  talk  about  the  necessity  or  the  beauty  of  war. 

{March,  1915.) 

Anatole  France,  Bourget,  and  Barres  are  men  of  morbid  tem- 
perament. In  support  of  their  weakness  they  place  all  the  re- 
sources of  a  skillful  dialectic  which  used  in  favor  of  a  good  cause 
might  do  much  good  and  people  come  to  think  that  it  is  freedom 
of  thought  which  has  created  such  a  temperament  while  as  a 
matter  of  fact  it  is  their  temperament  which  has  given  a  twist  to 
their  minds.  ...  I  always  felt  that  these  writers  were  in  no  way 
the  leaders  of  French  thought.  From  a  moral  viewpoint,  they 
are  the  WTctched  descendants,  the  last  heirs  of  a  long  line  of  fast 
esthetes,  which  have  for  a  common  ancestor  Chateaubriand,  as  he 
appears  in  the  Genie  du  Christianisme.  These  people  cannot 
teach  anything  to  the  young  men  of  modern  France.  As  leaders 
of  the  new  generation,  they  have  made  a  dismal  failure.  Barres 
especially,  who  at  one  time  had  high  pretensions  in  this  respect. 
Young  men  turned  to  other  writers  like  R.  Rolland  and  Brieux, 
who  were  not  obliged  to  display  so  much  art  in  defense  of  tem- 
peramental weakness. 

April  22,  1915. 

The  one  decent  thing  that  may  come  out  of  this  horrible  mess 
may  be  the  final  discrediting  of  war  in  Europe,  and  perhaps  else- 
where.   It's  an  idea  which  keeps  up  French  soldiers  at  present. 

138 


ROBERT    EDOIARD    PELLISSIER 

One  often  hears  them  say,  "Well,  whatever  hapj>ens  to  us,  our 
children  at  least  \\  ill  he  freed  fntni  tlu>  curse  of  uiilitarisiu  and  all 
allied  curses!" 

Scpfniihcr  /J,  I'Jl'i. 

Xo,  don't  l)elie\e  what  Miss  Addains  is  telling,'  or  rather  what 
slie  has  been  told.  Ereneh  soldiers  don't  <:et  drunk  each  time 
they  go  into  a  bayonet  char<re.  I  took  part  in  one,  and  not  only 
we  had  nothing  in  our  cans  except  water,  but  we  hat!  had  nothing 
to  eat  since  breakfast  (and  it  was  two  in  the  afternoon),  and  we 
had  no  supi)er  at  all  and  breakfast  t)idy  at  ten  the  next  morning. 
I  saw  a  charge  start  right  from  the  very  part  of  the  trench  where 
I  sat  and  what  struck  me  was  the  perfectly  cold  determination  of 
tlie  men  who  were  to  mv  left  and  to  mv  right  and  in  front  of  me. 
Those  who  cut  lanes  through  our  wires  hit  rhythmically  and  with 
perfect  aim.  There  was  no  bar-room  atmosphere  at  all.  The 
men  in  the  school  here  come  from  all  corners  and  quarters  of  the 
front.  I  have  asked  a  dozen  or  so  of  those  who  have  charged  with 
the  bayonet  what  they  knew  about  .systematical  distribution  of 
whiskey  or  what  not  and  they  told  me  that  they  knew  nothing 
al)out  it,  had  always  gone  to  it  in  the  full  possession  of  their 
powers. 

October  2Jt,  1915. 

It'  J  I  nine  through  this  war.  I  shall  fight  for  the  United  States 
in  all  their  wars  to  come  in  my  life  time. 

Xot'ewhcr  7.  I'Jl.'i. 

Ill  tell  yoii  in  secret  that  the  army  is  made  up  largely  of  men 
who  arc  hoping  and  |)ioii>ly  praying  lliat  something  ridiculous 
may  happen  to  their  betters. 

.\(ininlnr  .'I.  I'Jl'i. 

I  don't  bciicNc  that  your  country  would  los«'  \cry  nnicli  by 
lia\ing  xiinclhing  of  an  armed  force.  Tiie  rich  must  be  strong, 
fliey  uiunI  !)<•  willing  to  sacritice  sonu'thiug  to  remain  ricli.  If 
Franc*'  were  a  poor  country,  the  himgry  (lermans  wlio  \\i\\v 
grow  u  loo  f;ist  for  t  lieir  ow  n  good  and  for  t  li.it  (if  t  lieir  neighbors, 
would  not  be  bot  lieriiig  U-.  t'roui  I  )unker(|ue  to  ( lallipoli.    I  don't 

1.39 


ROBERT   EDOUARD   PELLISSIER 

believe  that  armies  bring  about  war.  If  a  man  has  a  dollar  he 
puts  it  in  his  pocket,  if  he  has  several  hundred  he  puts  them  in  a 
reenforced  concrete,  iron-clad,  steel-rimmed,  double-bottom 
bank  and  burglars  immediately  surround  the  bank  and  get  busy 
with  dynamite  and  all  kinds  of  jimmies. 

{January,  1916.) 
If  I  pull  out  of  this  long  drawn  out  scrape,  I  shall  have  gained 
one  inestimable  thing,  absolute  faith  in  the  soundness  of  our  race. 
How  utterly  ridiculous  the  decadence  yarn  seems,  in  the  face  of 
facts,  of  deeds.  When  the  Germans  attack  us  they  are  often 
drunk  as  drunk  can  be;  they  howl  and  shriek;  they  come  in 
hordes.  Our  men  go  at  it  in  the  full  control  of  their  faculties  and 
without  the  imperious  need  of  feeling  the  comforting  touch  of 
the  elbows  of  neighbors. 

March  6,  1916. 
No,  I  do  not  hate  wholesale  fashion.  I  even  believe  that  I  do 
not  hate  at  all  in  the  literal  sense  of  the  word.  If  on  a  fine  night 
when  crossing  the  campus  on  my  way  back  from  Palo  Alto,  I 
should  encounter  a  hold-up  man,  thrusting  his  revolver  at  me, 
I  should  do  my  best  to  smash  his  face,  but  once  the  deed  was  ac- 
complished, I  should  be  perfectly  willing  to  have  him  taken  at 
my  expense  to  the  Peninsula  Hospital.  It  is  the  kind  of  feeling  I 
have  when  fighting  the  Boches.  Against  the  Bodies  taken  singly, 
I  have  no  grudge,  but  I  am  perfectly  determined  not  to  allow  my 
linguistic  and  idealistic  family  group  to  be  swallowed  up  by 
theirs,  which  at  the  present  time  is  certainly  far  from  showing 
moral  superiority.  Have  you  read  "Above  the  Strife,"  by  Ro- 
main  Rolland?  I  have  not,  but  the  title  appeals  to  me  and  the 
author  has  been  attacked  so  unanimously  by  the  most  sensa- 
tional newspapers  that  I  dare  say  he  must  have  voiced  some  kind 
of  truth  in  a  vigorous  manner.  The  Boches,  however,  are  discon- 
certing to  a  degree  when  it  comes  to  knavery  and  fanaticism. 
Well,  what  I  ask  of  you  is  not  to  consider  me  a  blind  monster,  for 
it  is  not  with  joy  that  I  put  my  finger  on  the  trigger  but  I  go 
through  with  that  motion,  whether  I  like  it  or  not,  and  I  shall 

140 


ROBERT    EDOrARD    TELLISSIER 

continue  to  do  so.  It  is  a  disgusting'  jt)l),  l)ut  it  lias  to  l)e  done  — 
so  help  nie  (iodi  —  if  in  so  doiiii:  I  ineur  everlastintr  condennia- 
tion. 

August  n,  I'.iir,. 

In  spite  of  the  Lufiitania,  Wilson  may  loom  big  yet  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  world.  I  abst)lutely  refuse  to  put  a  small  dingy  politi- 
cal motive  back  of  his  foreign  policy.  It  seems  to  me  that  he 
acted  logically  as  representing  a  nation  made  uj)  largely  of  con- 
vinced pacifists.  It  is  not  time  to  talk  j)eace  now  in  France,  but 
after  the  war  it  will  be  a  shame  if  all  the  fine  and  generous  move- 
ments for  general  peace  which  were  at  the  bottom  of  most  politi- 
cal di.scussions  are  not  taken  up  again  and  with  more  vigor. 
After  two  years  of  this  fighting  business  I  can't  agree  with  those 
who  sav  that  there  will  alwavs  be  war,  and  anv  man  who  has  the 
generosity  to  fight  for  peace  enrers  et  centre  fou.s  .seems  to  me  most 
resj)ectable.  It's  very  easy  for  a  Roosevelt  to  be  popular.  All 
one  needs  to  do  is  to  appeal  to  the  cowardice  of  those  who  are 
afraid  and  to  the  passions  of  those  who  are,  above  all,  proud  or 
vain  or  greedy,  ^^'ilson  could  have  been  innnensely  popular  with 
California,  New  Mexico,  Arizona,  Colorado  and  a  good  part  of 
the  Mississipi)i  Valley  simply  by  getting  hold  of  a  few  ^Mexican 
border  states,  giving  poor  downtrodden  promoters  a  chance  to 
get  fatter. 

Roniain  Rolhiud  is  getting  danmed  up  and  down  because  he 
keeps  airing  his  belief  that  in  spite  of  all  things  done,  there  may 
yet  l>e  a  few  good  (iermans  in  the  world.  He  is  very  nuich  more 
creditable  to  liis  nation  tliau  that  ass  of  Saint-Saens,  who  since 
the  liclgiaii  and  .\orthcrii  atrocities,  has  discovered  that  AN'agiicr 
had  no  iiiusical  sense  at  all.  It  would  l»e  too  bad  for  France  if 
there  were  a  dozen  Hoinain  Hollands  writing  and  talking,  l)ut  it 
would  be  a  sign  of  mortal  disea.se  in  tlie  nation  if  all  thinkers  and 
all  professional  men  were  of  the  Saint-Saens  stripe.  .V  eoufirnied 
uiiabashe(l,  uutractablc  idealist  here  and  there  is  a  beacon  light, 
no  matter  liow  dot  ni«l  i\  c  lii^  I  licoiio  would  lie  il"  applied  w  it  li- 
on t  diM-rinnnat  Kiu.     It  seems  td  ni<'  I  li;il  \\  il>on  i>  a  I'uritaiiical 

141 


ROBERT   EDOUARD   PELLISSIER 

idealist  whose  mistakes  will  be  more  than  made  up  for  by  the 
new  orientation  which  foreign  affairs  in  the  United  States  may 
get  from  his  principles  of  patience  and  forbearance.  What  made 
me  write  out  this  "tartine"  is  the  fact  that  I  have  often  to  ex- 
plain the  United  States  to  the  men  here  who,  being  ill  informed 
and  not  analytical,  think  that  the  United  States  were  afraid  to 
fight  Germany !  As  foolish  an  opinion  of  you  as  so  many  of  your 
bourgeois  had  of  us  ante  helium. 

It  remains  to  be  said  that  the  Journal  Officiel  of  October 

14,  1916,  recorded  in  the  following  terms  the  award  of  the 

MSdaille  Militaire,  together  with  the  Croix  de  Guerre  avec 

palme  to 

"Robert  Edouard  Pellissier, 

M^^  04682,  sergent  a  la  1'^  compagnie  du  o'"*^  bataillon  de 
chasseurs  a  pied:  Sous-officier  d'une  bravoure  et  d'un  sang- 
froid remarquables.  La  section  ayant  ete  soumise  pendant 
plusieurs  jours  a  un  violent  bombardement,  n'a  cesse  d'ex- 
alter  le  moral  de  ses  hommes  et  de  porter  secours  aux 
blesses.  A  ete  atteint  d'une  tres  grave  blessure  lors  d'une 
releve  particulierement  difficile." 

Two  ambulances  sent  to  the  front  commemorated  the 
affection  in  which  he  was  held  by  American  friends:  one 
from  Bridgewater  State  Normal  School,  another  from  Le- 
land  Stanford  Jr.  University.  At  Stanford  the  mere  an- 
nouncement that  contributions  would  be  received  was 
enough  to  secure  the  requisite  fund,  to  which  nobody  was 
asked  to  contribute. 


JOHN   rrTIIHKRT   STAIRS 


Law    1!)  1:5-14 


Joiix  CuTliBERT  Stamps  was  horn  at  Halifax,  Xova 
Scotia,  December  3,  IHiH,  a  son  of  (ieor^e  and  Melon  Kliza- 
l)eth  (Mackenzie)  Stairs,  and  ^n-aduated  a(  Dalhousie  Col- 
lege in  1!)1'2.  ^^'llil('  an  iinder<!:radnal('  lie  played  on  the 
Daiiiuiisit.'  [(xjthall  team.  In  Iliilifax  he  is  rcnicnihered  as 
a  yonn^  man  of  stroiii:-  [xTsonai  charni,  who  made  many 
friend^  ;ind  iil\\;i_\>  lidd  tlicin.  He  .•iMciidcd  Ijic  H;ii"\;ird 
Law  Scliool  U)V  OIK"  yc;ii'  only.  \\  lien  t  lie  war  ln'okc  out  lie 
was  ill  (  al^'arw  wlicrc  lie  cxjx'ctod  lo  ^ain  a  snmnier'.s  ex- 
jxTiciicc  in  the  law  ofiicc  of  a  triciid.  hiil  rdnrned  al  once 
to  Ilahfax  lo  if|)()it  lo  liiv  iiiilil  ia  rc^iiiiciil .  I  he  (KH  h  Prin- 
cess lyonisr  I''nsih'crs,  and  voliinl fcrcd  in  Aii^nisl,  l!)14,for 
overseas  s(T\i(c.     Aflcr  xixin^  as  licul<'iiaiil   al  a  iiarhor 

11:5 


JOHN   CUTHBERT   STAIRS 

post  near  Halifax  from  August  to  November,  he  received 
orders  to  report  to  the  25th  Nova  Scotia  Battalion,  just 
formed  for  service  overseas,  and  in  May,  1915,  sailed  for 
England  as  a  lieutenant  in  this  battalion.  His  training  in 
England  lasted  through  the  summer;  in  September  he 
went  to  France  with  his  regiment. 

In  the  fighting  at  Ypres  he  took  an  immediate  part,  and 
in  October  was  so  severely  wounded  in  the  leg  that  he  was 
obliged  to  return  to  England  for  convalescence.  In  March, 
1916,  he  went  back  to  France,  where  he  saw  fighting  at  St. 
Eloi  and  was  mentioned  in  despatches.  Then  his  old  bat- 
talion, the  25th,  was  marched  to  the  Somme.  In  the  action 
of  September  15,  in  which  the  battalion  captured  the  vil- 
lage of  Courcelotte,  and  won  for  itself  many  honors.  Stairs, 
now  holding  the  rank  of  captain,  was  killed.  He  was  buried 
behind  the  lines  in  a  Canadian  cemetery  at  Albert. 

On  the  same  day  a  brother  of  Captain  Stairs,  fighting 
also  at  Courcelotte,  won  the  Military  Cross.  Another 
brother  had  been  killed  at  Ypres,  April  24,  1915.  Five  first 
cousins  of  these  young  men  gave  their  lives  in  the  war. 
Such  has  been  the  toll  of  Canada. 


DILLWYX  PARRISH  STARR 

Class  of  1908 

l)\  LT.  Starr,  as  he  was  known  in  that  pubHc  faniiharlty 
whicli  attaches  to  conspicuous  pUiyers  of  college  footl)all, 
came  to  Harvard  from  (Iroton  School  in  the  autumn  of 
1!K)4.  At  (iroton  lie  had  been  cai)tain  of  the  School  eleven. 
'"I  remember  Dill  witli  nuich  affection  during  his  Groton 
days."  wrote  the  Rector  of  the  School  soon  after  his  former 
j)iipir>  death.  "lie  was  'all  hoy'  then.  Simple  and  straight- 
forward and  afraid  of  nothing.  I  fanc>'  he  kei)t  tliese  l)oy- 
i-h  (|iialities  to  the  cud."  So  indeed  he  ai)i)ears  to  liave 
done,  for  "The  War  Story  of  Dillwyii  Parrisli  Starr," 
l)riiit(d  Ity  lii>  father  in  IIH?  for  j)rivate  distribution,  re- 
veab  a  young  soldier  to  wliom  the  terms  that  titled  the 
\h>\   may  mo>t  a|)tly  be  appheil. 

14.3 


DILLAYYN   PARRISH   STARR 

They  fitted  him  also  during  his  four  years  in  college  as  a 
member  of  the  Class  of  1908.  He  was  still  "all  boy"  — 
to  the  extent  of  not  taking  his  studies  seriously  enough  to 
win  him  his  bachelor's  degree.  In  the  social  and  athletic 
pursuits  of  undergraduates  his  personal  charm  and  his 
prowess  carried  him  far.  He  was  a  member  of  the  Institute 
of  1770,  the  Kalumet,  Round  Table,  Hasty  Pudding,  and 
Porcellian  Clubs.  But  it  was  as  a  football  player  that  he 
really  made  his  name  in  College.  In  each  of  his  four  college 
years  he  was  a  member  of  the  University  eleven,  as  quar- 
ter-back when  a  freshman  and  a  sophomore,  as  right  end 
when  a  junior,  and  left  end  in  his  senior  year  —  "all  boy" 
and  "afraid  of  nothing."  A  reminiscence  of  his  college 
days  carries  with  it  a  suggestion  of  the  spirit  which  ani- 
mated his  playing  of  football,  and  at  the  same  time  fore- 
shadows, as  if  in  prophecy,  the  end  that  awaited  him. 
When  it  came  a  classmate  wrote:  "There  is  one  comforting 
thought  and  that  is  that  I  am  sure  he  died  as  he  would  wish 
to  die.  On  the  wall  of  the  breakfast-room  at  the  Club  at 
Cambridge  there  is  a  picture  of  a  cavalry  charge  with  an 
officer,  with  sword  upraised,  leading  his  men  on  gallantly. 
Dill  and  I  would  often  get  seats  at  dinner  opposite  this 
picture;  would  discuss  the  splendid  sensations  such  a  man 
must  have  under  the  circumstances,  and  we  would  always 
agree  that  if  we  might  choose  the  kind  of  death  we  would 
have,  we  should  choose  such  an  ending." 

Starr's  home  was  in  Philadelphia,  where  he  was  born 
October  3,  1884,  the  son  of  Dr.  Louis  Starr,  a  widely  known 
specialist  in  children's  diseases,  long  a  professor  in  the 
Medical  School  of  the  University  of  Pennsylvania,  and 
Mary   (Parrish)  Starr.    Both  English  and  French  blood 

140 


DILLWYX    PARRISII   STARR 

were  transmitted  to  liini  from  earlier  irenerations,  aiul  tlie 
Quaker  inheritanees  which  l)eloii<^  to  many  true  IVnnsyl- 
vanians.  After  leaving  eollege  Starr  was  employed  in 
business  offices  in  IMiiladeljjiiia  and  New  York,  At  the 
outbreak  of  the  war  he  was  passing  his  sunnner  holiday 
with  his  family  at  Islesboro,  Maine.  Late  in  August  he 
went  tt)  New  ^"ork.  where  foreign  affairs  seemed  less  re- 
mote, and  "on  Labor  Day,"  to  ((Uote  the  words  of  his 
father,  "while  lying  on  the  sands  at  Long  Beach  reading 
the  war  reports,  he  suddenly  told  the  friends  who  were 
with  liiin  that  he  had  determined  'to  see  the  war.'" 

'I'he  oj)])ortnnity  so  to  do  was  speedily  sought  and  found. 
( )ii  September  LS,  11)14,  he  sailed  from  New  York  as  one  of 
the  crew  of  the  Red  ( "ross  ship  Hamburg,  carrying  medical 
supplies  and  a  cori)s  of  surgeons  and  nurses  to  France.  The 
eleveiilh-hoiir  substitution  of  an  untrained  crew  for  the 
Germans  who  iiad  previously  manned  the  vessel  made  the 
voyage  both  uncomfortable  and  perilous.  But  Starr  made 
frientls  with  the  chief  engineer,  and,  bearing  a  signed  cer- 
tificate of  ability  and  character  from  him,  was  permitted 
to  leave  the  ship  at  Falmouth.  Thence  he  went  direct  to 
Ivondon  where,  within  a  few  days,  he  met  Richard  Norton, 
then  establishing  his  "American  \  olunteer  ^^otor  Ambu- 
lance ( 'orj)>,  "  and  offered  himself  for  the  service  of  this  or- 
gani/.at  ioii.  I  lie  otVci"  was  accei)ted,  and,  after  a  short 
period  of  >i)ecial  tiaiiiiiig  for  the  work  of  the  Corps  and 
securing  hi>  outht,  he  Icfl  I>ondoii  for  the  front,  Octo- 
ber 1!). 

Slarr'>  coiiiicct Ion  with  Richai'd  Norton's  motor  corps 
last<<l  only  about  two  nioiilli>.  in  that  time  he  did  good 
work  a>  an  aniltiiiancc  di-j\ cr,  and  had  his  eytvs  inlly  oi)ened 

147 


DILLWYN   PARRISH   STARR 

to  the  realities  of  the  war  for  those  who  were  fighting  it. 
"I  know  that  from  the  very  first,"  his  father  has  written, 
"he  disHked  the  idea  of  being  protected  by  a  red  cross  on 
his  sleeve,  while  so  many  about  him  were  enlisted  to  do 
soldiers'  work."  It  is  not  surprising,  therefore,  that  when 
the  opportunity  came  to  him  early  in  December  to  enter  a 
more  active  service  he  seized  it,  and  enlisted,  with  his 
friend  Walter  G.  Oakman,  Jr.,  of  the  Harvard  Class  of 
1907,  in  the  British  Armoured  Motor  Car  Division,  a 
branch  —  one  does  not  see  just  why  —  of  the  Royal  Naval 
Air  Service.  It  was  at  this  point  in  his  war  record  that  his 
father  says  "the  conviction  grew  strong  within  him  that 
the  place  for  a  free  man  was  on  the  side  of  the  Allies  fight- 
ing for  liberty,  justice,  civilization  —  the  world's  cause; 
and  he  began  to  feel,  too,  the  importance  of  the  issue  to  his 
own  country." 

From  early  in  December  until  March  1,  1915,  Starr  was 
under  constant  training  in  England  for  the  work  of  the 
Armoured  Motor  Corps  Division.  On  March  1  he  left 
London  for  the  front,  in  a  squadron  commanded  by  the 
Duke  of  Westminster,  and  made  up  of  twelve  light  and 
three  heavy  cars,  several  supply  cars,  and  twenty-four 
motor-cycles  for  dispatch  work.  There  were  eight  officers 
and  one  hundred  and  twenty  men.  Each  car  had  a  name 
of  its  own,  and  Starr's  was  called  the  "Black  Joke."  They 
sailed  from  Dover,  March  6,  and  disembarked  at  Dunkirk 
the  next  day. 

Again  Starr  was  to  have  about  two  months  of  continu- 
ous service  in  France.  In  the  course  of  it  he  took  part  in  a 
number  of  actions,  including  the  Battle  of  Neuve  Chapelle. 
There  were  alternations  of  perilous  service  and  fatigue 

148 


DILLWYX    PARRTSII   STARR 

duty.  Of  the  first  he  wrote  one  day  in  liis  diary :  **  Thinking 
of  going  in  gives  one  tlie  same  feehng  as  l^efore  a  football 
match."  It  may  well  have  been  during  his  performance  of 
fatigue  duty  that  he  recorded  his  unflatt(>ring  opinion  of 
one  of  his  fellows  with  whom  he  had  disagreed,  and  fol- 
lowed it  up  by  an  entry  which  his  father  has  preserved  as 
illustrating  his  sweetness  of  disi)osition:  "I  suppose  I'm  a 
chuni])  for  writing  this  but  it  relieves  my  mind."  After  a 
few  days  he  added :  "Here  and  now  I  take  back  all  I  said  of 

.   I  have  been  with  him  under  fire  and  he  was  cool  as  a 

cucumber.    But  I  will  leave  it  in  just  to  show  what  a  goat 

I  '5 

am. 

Ut'  liad  not  been  making  any  such  im])ression  upon  his 
superior,  for  on  A I  ay  10  the  Duke  of  Westminster  told 
Starr,  and  Oakman,  that  they  had  been  ])romoted,  and 
were  to  report  in  London.  This  they  did,  a  week  later,  and 
in  another  ten  days  Starr  was  gazetted  sub-lieutenant, 
Royal  Xavy  \  oiunteer  Reserves,  corresponding  in  rank 
with  that  of  full  lieutenant  in  the  army.  At  this  time  he 
received  an  offer  for  dut>-  in  Gallipoli,  where  two  Armoured 
Car  Scjuadrons  had  already  gone,  and  accepted  it  with  en- 
thusiasm for  the  prospect  of  active  service  which  it  afforded. 
On  June  7  he  sailed  to  join  the  ill-fated  exjiedition  to  the 
Dardanelles,  the  onl\-  man  on  the  Harvard  Roll  of  Honor 
who  bore  a  i)art  in  tlii>  tragic  experience. 

Starr  had  about  four  acli\("  luontlisof  it.  He  did  not 
r<'acii  ( 'i;i\\\\)(}V\  t  ill  ;ifl(i-  t  he  middle  of  July,  and  left  it  Xo- 
\rnib<T  b'5.  IIi>  letters  wiitteu  in  tin's  ])eri()d  eonfii-in  the 
general  impression  of  the  griiujiess  and  iioiror  of  the  situa- 
tion at  the  i)ar(hineih's.  He  saw  hard  lighting  in  and  out 
of  the  trenches  —  and  such  sights  as  this  glimpse  recorded 

11!) 


DILLWYN   PARRISH   STARR 

after  three  weeks  on  the  Peninsula  suggests:  "A  man  went 
mad  on  the  beach  today,  and  began  shooting  about,  and 
they  had  to  kill  him.  It's  a  cheerful  life,  isn't  it?"  A  little 
later  he  wrote:  "I  am  constantly  in  hot  water  about  home 
as  all  here  know  I  am  an  American,  and  the  notes  about 
the  Lusitcmia  aren't  making  us  any  too  popular.  Although 
my  commander  is  friendly,  I  sometimes  get  furious."  Nor 
were  the  conditions  of  his  service  wholly  agreeable,  "We 
hear  again,"  he  wrote  on  September  9,  "that  the  Armoured 
Cars  are  going  to  be  disbanded.  Word  has  come  that  there 
are  no  more  reserves  for  us  and  that  when  our  numbers  are 
exhausted  by  sickness  and  wounds  we  are  to  turn  our  guns 
over  to  the  army.  You  can  see  how  discouraging  it  is,  and 
I  really  don't  think  it  worth  our  while  sitting  here  all  winter 
doing  nothing.  The  Army  doesn't  recognize  us  because  we 
belong  to  the  R.N.A.S.,  neither  does  the  Navy,  because  we 
are  acting  on  land."  Frequent  swims  in  the  delicious  water 
reminding  him  of  home,  in  spite  of  sharks,  yielded  some  en- 
joyment, but  discouragement  and  discontent  with  the 
management  of  military  matters,  both  at  home  and  at  the 
front,  gave  the  period  their  own  sombre  color.  Evidently, 
Starr  was  again  rendering  a  good  account  of  himself ;  at  the 
beginning  of  November  he  received  an  offer  of  transfer  to 
an  army  brigade  from  the  general  commanding  it,  with  a 
promise  of  a  captaincy  in  the  near  future.  But  this  would 
not  have  meant  France,  where  Starr  by  this  time  was  hop- 
ing to  serve  again.  A  few  days  later,  incapacitated  by 
dysentery,  he  was  sent  to  a  base  hospital,  and  here  on 
November  12  he  received  an  Admiralty  order  to  report  in 
London.  The  next  day  he  sailed  for  England,  his  question 
of  further  service  on  the  Peninsula  solved  for  him. 

150 


DILLWYX    PARRISIl    STARR 

His  family,  awaitiiiii'  liini  in  London,  found  liini 
chanijed.  "He  seemed  to  have  dropped  much  of  his  youth- 
fuhiess.  and  ti>  liave  become  more  serious  and  possessed  hy 
a  more  ])urposeful  energy.  Tliese  changes  showed  in  his 
manner  and  in  tlie  expression  of  his  face,  whik'  his  stead- 
fast eyes  looked  as  if  tlicy  had  seen  many  grave  sights,  an<l, 
as  has  heen  said  of  a  recent  ])icture  of  him,  as  if  one  couhl 
read  in  thcni  tlic  whole  history  of  the  war.  He  seemed  not 
to  care  to  talk  much  of  Gallipoli,  and  in  what  he  said  there 
was  little  reference  to  the  dangers  he  had  passed  through  or 
to  hardships  endured."  Yet  of  the  effect  of  the  whole  or- 
deal ui)on  Dillwyn  Starr  his  father  says  further:  "He  came 
through  it  with  unbroken  nerve,  a  more  thoughtful,  serious 
man,  and  mentally  and  i)liysically  a  better  soldier." 

Reporting  at  the  Admiralty  Starr  learned  that  the  Ar- 
moured Car  Division  was  in  process  of  disbanding.  Several 
alternatives  were  presented  to  him,  including  honorable 
discharge,  'i'his,  his  father  and  he  decided,  was  not  to  be 
considered  while  the  Allies  were  in  the  straits  then  existing. 
After  weighing  the  several  o])i)ortunities  within  reach, 
Starr  chose  a  commission  of  second  lieutenant  in  the  Cold- 
stream (iuards,  which  his  friend  Oakman  had  alreadv 
joined.  The  discipline  and  tradition  of  this  regiment,  were 
unsurpassed  in  the  liritish  Army.  Starr's  previous  service 
\\a>  well  enough,  but  as  a  (Oldsti'cam  (iuardsman  he  still 
had  much  to  leani.  and  from  January  .5  to  July  II.  l!)l(!.  he 
remained  in  Kngland.  Then,  with  foui-olhei-  ('oldstream 
officers,  he  went   to  I  he  lioiil  . 

I*'<»r  t  he  reiiiaiiider  ol"  July,  for  all  of  August  and  a  poi't  ion 
of  Septeiiiltrr.  Slarr">  let  ler>  >ho\\  him  in  I  he  front  line  and 
re.scr\e  I  r<-iie|ic>.  aiid  back  of  t  he  line.    He  w  rilcN  of  a  ^\\  nn 


DILLWYN   PARRISH   STARR 

in  the  Somme,  and  a  game  of  football  with  the  Grenadiers, 
in  which,  he  says,  "I  was  lucky  enough  to  make  a  goal  for 
our  side  in  the  last  thirty  seconds."  It  was  soccer,  of  which 
he  had  written  the  day  before,  "I  don't  know  the  first 
thing  about  it";  but  his  colonel  said  afterwards,  "He  was 
the  best  football  player  I  ever  saw."   These  were  the  inter- 
ludes.   The  names  of  Albert  and  other  places  synonymous 
with  bitter  fighting  spot  the  pages  of  his  letters.    In  the 
last  of  them,  dated  September  12,  1916,  he  wrote,  "We  are 
going  up  in  the  line  tomorrow  or  next  day,  so  if  you  don't 
hear  from  me  for  a  few  days,  don't  worry."    The  point  in 
the  line  to  be  attacked  by  the  Second  Battalion  of  the 
Coldstream  Guards  was  at  Ginchy,  where  the  Germans 
held  a  strong  position,  the  breaking  of  which  was  a  matter 
of  serious  moment.   Starr  was  chosen  to  lead  a  company  of 
two  platoons,  his  own.  Number  12,  and  another,  because 
"his  men  were  certain  to  follow  him  anywhere."     The 
desire  which  he  had  felt  as  a  collegian  to  lead  a  charge  in 
battle  had  frequently  recurred  in  the  two  years  of  wartime. 
At  last  the  moment  was  come.   The  following  passage  from 
Dr.   Starr's  narrative  depicts  the  scene  and  the  brave 
death  that  ended  his  son's  part  in  it: 

It  was  understood  that  at  5.40  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  the 
fifteenth  a  squadron  of  "Tanks"  were  to  advance  from  the  rear 
along  the  sunken  road  and  silence  the  machine-guns  there.  At 
6.20  the  Guards  were  to  "go  over." 

True  to  the  appointed  time  the  "Tanks"  were  heard  to  start 
and,  under  heavy  gun-fire,  to  come  on  a  little  way.  Then  they 
stopped !  Every  man  in  the  Coldstream  trench  realized  the  im- 
port of  this  failure.  One  of  the  non-commissioned  officers  spoke 
to  Dillwyn  about  it  and  was  answered  "I  know,  but  we  will  go  on 
without  them."   From  this  time,  piecing  together  the  bits  of  the 

152 


DILT,WY\    rVRRISH    STARR 

storv  as  tliev  have  reaclu'd  ur-,  1  can  picture  him  as  the  fixed 
moment  appnnielied,  full  of  eagerness  and  suppressed  energy  and 
without  the  slightest  traee  of  fear,  standing  with  one  foot  so 
placed  in  a  niche  in  the  trench  that  he  could  leap  to  the  toj)  and 
over  at  the  instant  time  was  up,  and  hear  him  say,  "five  minutes 
more,  men,"  "one  minute  more,  men,"  and  "time's  up."  Then, 
they  tell  me,  he  sprang  on  to  the  parapet,  revolver  in  hand,  and 
wa\ing  his  stick  and  shouting,  "(\)me  on,  twelve  platoon,  come 
im,"  leapt  o\-er  an<l  led  on  the  charge.  They  went  out  into  a  per- 
fect storm  of  shells  and  a  hail  of  machine-gun  hullcts,  a  direct  fire 
from  the  short  trench  in  front  of  them  and  an  enfilading  fire  from 
theundeared  road  to  the  left.  But  they  pressed  on, he  alwayswell 
in  front  of  his  rapidly  thinning  j)latoons.  They  reached  the  short 
trench  and  here  DilKvyu  fell,  just  as  he  was  springing  uj)on  its 
])araj)et,  with  his  face  to  the  enemy,  shot  through  the  lieart,  and 
killed  instantly.  His  men,  after  a  severe  struggle,  took  the  trencli 
and,  with  the  wave  of  support,  swept  by  him.  I^ess  resistance 
was  offered  at  the  second  trench,  and  when  they  reached  the 
main  trench  the  few  who  were  left  occu])ied  it  without  any  diffi- 
culty, as  the  (iermans  were  on  the  run,  and  held  it  securely  until 
they  were  relieved  next  day  to  take  part  in  the  caj)ture  of  Tx's- 

l)(X"ufs. 

Tims.  Dillwyn  Starr  died,  Sc])tcTnlKM-  1.5.  1!)1(),  in  tlu^ 
Battle  of  til*'  SoiiHiic.  The  charge  of  the  (iuards  in  which 
lie  fell  a  charge  conducted,  a^  one  ohscrx'cr  >aw  it,  "as 
steadily  as  though  they  were  walking  down  Ihc  Mall"  — 
wa.s  a  >|)lcndid  c\ainj)lc  of  the  s|)irit  of  this  regiment .  and 
filled  all  Knglaiid  w  itli  i)ridc.  Starr's  pari  in  it  rccci\-c(l  the 
highest  |)raisc  from  his  fellow -olliccrs  and  his  men.  A 
hculcnant  of  the  regiment  ami  to  llii>  rank,  il  should  lie 
saifj.  Stair  himscll"  was  promoted  hy  seniority  at  the  Ncry 
time  of  his  death  wr'otc  of  him  a  foi-tnight  aftci-  th<> 
action:  "(Xiiccrs  and  men  were  e(|ually  fond  of  him.  and 


DILLWYN   PARRISH   STARR 

they  all  felt  that  before  he  was  an  officer,  before  he  was  an 
American,  before  anything,  he  was  a  Man,  and  a  man 
whom  they  could  trust." 

His  body  lies  where  he  fell  in  France.  Soon  after  his 
death  his  fellow-members  of  the  Porcellian  Club  undertook 
the  maintenance  of  an  endowed  bed  in  the  American  Am- 
bulance Hospital  in  Paris,  and  placed  over  it  a  brass  tablet 
with  the  inscription: 

SUPPORTED    BY   THE    PORCELLIAN    CLUB 
IN    MEMORY    OF    DILLWYN    PARRISH    STARR. 

He  and  his  comrades,  officers  and  men,  of  the  Coldstream 
Guards  who  fell  in  the  Battle  of  the  Somme  were  com- 
memorated in  a  special  service  at  Holy  Trinity  Church, 
Sloane  Street,  London,  on  October  5.  A  service  in  memory 
of  Starr  alone  was  held  in  Trinity  Church,  New  York  City, 
three  days  earlier.  After  this  service  the  flowers  sent  by 
friends  were  laid  on  the  graves  in  Trinity  Churchyard, 
especially  on  those  of  soldiers  in  the  American  Revolution. 


WILLIAM   ST()(   KS   LACEY 


D.M.l).   i!)i:5 


W  iLLiA.M  Stocks  La(  kv  was  hum  in  IltTtford,  Eng- 
land. Aj)ril  4,  1887,  the  only  son  of  William  J.  ^f.  Lacey,  a 
dental  snrgt'on  in  Hertford,  and  Llizal)etli  Mary  (Stock.s) 
Lacey.  He  entered  tJie  Harvard  Dental  Seliool  in  1J)1'2, 
from  (iuy's  Hospital, London,  with  the  l^ritish  appellations 
of   L.R.C.P.,   London,   ^LH.C.S..    Knoh.nd.   and    L.D.S., 

Lnglalid.  He  r('r-('i\"c(l  lii>  decree  of  Doctor  of  1  )cnlal  Med- 
icinc  at  Hai'\ard  in  1!)1.'>.  hi  Octolx-i-  of  that  \-car  lie  niai*- 
ried  in  Kngland  the  only  danghlcr  of  ALijor  ami  Mrs. 
Thomas  Harher  of  Hertford. 

Hi>^  rank  in  t  lie  lirit  i^li  Army,  w  liieli  lie  joined  Jannary  1 , 
]!M<!.  was  that   of  lieiiteiiaiil    in  the  |{oyal  Army  Medical 

(  drpx.     A    liieiiihcr  of   I  lie    I  KMIi     |-'leld   A  1 1 1 1  M I  la  lice,    lie   W  US 


!.).> 


WILLIAM   STOCKS   LACEY 

temporarily  attached  to  the  11th  Battahon,  Royal  West 
Kent  Regiment,  at  the  time  of  his  death.  This  occurred 
October  11,  1916,  at  the  38th  Casualty  Clearing  Station, 
France,  in  consequence  of  wounds  received  in  action  on  the 
Somme  two  days  before. 

His  father  has  written  as  follows  of  his  final  deeds  of 
courage  and  mercy:  "My  son  was  wounded  whilst  attend- 
ing to  wounded  soldiers  on  the  field,  out  in  the  open.  From 
what  we  have  been  told  it  appears  that  a  large  number  of 
men  had  been  wounded  but  could  not  be  brought  in.  It 
was  necessary  for  someone  to  give  immediate  help  to  the 
sufferers.  This  duty  was  performed  by  my  son.  He  ren- 
dered it  possible  for  all  the  wounded  to  be  removed  to 
dressing  stations,  when  he  was  struck  by  a  fragment  of  a 
shell  which  penetrated  the  lower  part  of  the  abdomen.  He 
walked  two  miles  to  a  dressing  station,  where  an  operation 
was  performed.  *Gas  gangrene'  supervened  and  a  second 
operation  was  necessary,  after  which  he  lived  but  a  few 
hours." 

He  is  buried  at  Heilly  Station  Cemetery,  INIericourt 
I'Abbe,  France. 


XOK.MAX    IM{IX('K 


Class  of   1908 


^ou.M  \\  l*i{i\(i;  \\a>  Ixnii  al  I'ridc  s  ( 'rossiii^-,  Massa- 
^•InisctU.  Aiii;ii>l  .'!1,  ISS7,  llic  scfond  ol"  llic  two  sons  of 
J'Vcdciick  llciiry  ami  Al)i<,Mil  (Xoniiaii)  Prince.  Mis  name 
i<!cnl  ilird  liini  with  lii>  two  i^i-aiidlat  licrs,  h'rcdcrick  O. 
I'lincr,  oner  Mavoi"  ol   lioston.  and  (icoi^c  II.  Norman,  a 

i:>7 


NORMAN   PRINCE 

well-known  citizen  of  Newport,  Rhode  Island.  A  notable 
energy,  both  of  mind  and  of  body,  was  evident  in  him  as  a 
bo^^  When  he  was  about  eleven  he  needed  a  tutor  in  Latin, 
and  undertook  the  task  of  securing  one  for  himself.  He 
wanted  to  find  somebody  who  would  pilot  him  through  six 
books  of  Virgil  in  two  weeks.  Interviewing  the  man  he 
thought  capable  of  this  feat,  he  asked  him  how  fast  he 
could  translate  Virgil,  and  on  receiving  an  estimate  of 
"ten  lines  a  minute,"  inquired  eagerly,  as  he  pulled  out  a 
stop  watch,  "May  I  time  you,  Sir.^ "  This  he  did,  with  re- 
sults so  satisfactory  that  he  insisted  on  persuading  the 
tutor,  somewhat  against  his  will,  to  give  him  lessons  be- 
tween seven  and  eight  in  the  morning  and  nine  and  ten  at 
night.  Several  years  later,  while  he  was  a  pupil  at  Grot  on 
School,  the  chance  to  spend  what  would  normally  have 
been  his  sixth  form  year  at  school  in  Europe  with  his 
brother  suddenly  presented  itself,  and  with  the  consent  of 
the  Groton  and  Harvard  authorities  he  offered  himself  for 
the  college  entrance  examinations,  which  he  passed,  with- 
out conditions,  at  the  age  of  fifteen.  This  enabled  him  to 
study  both  in  Germany  and  at  Oxford  before  entering  Har- 
vard when  the  Class  of  1908,  with  which  he  took  his  degree 
of  A.B.,  cum  laude,  was  beginning  its  sophomore  year.  In 
1911  he  graduated  from  the  Harvard  Law  School. 

His  physical  energy  found  an  early  outlet  on  the  hunting 
field.  He  began  riding  to  the  hounds  at  Myopia  when  he 
was  only  seven.  Before  he  and  his  brother  went  to  Groton, 
their  father  forbade  them  one  day  to  go  to  the  meet,  as  it 
was  raining  hard  and  the  riding  was  dangerous.  They  dis- 
obeyed him,  and,  besides  hunting,  raced  their  ponies,  which 
collided  and  threw  the  boys  so  violently  that  one  broke  his 

158 


XORMAX    rRTXCE 

thigh,  the  otlier  liis  folhir-hoiic.  I'ho  older  l)rothoi'  re- 
gained consciousness  first,  and  soon  Iieard  Xt)rnian.  with 
the  hroken  thigh,  saying.  "Fred.  I  think  T  am  dead.  How 
do  ^•ou  feel  ?  ' ' 

To  such  a  hoy.  grown  somewhat  older,  aviation  was 
hound  to  appeal.  When  he  finished  his  law  studies  it  was 
with  difficulty  that  hi^  family  |)ersua(led  him  to  take  up 
the  j)ractice  of  his  profession,  for  he  was  already  beconn'ng 
a  skilful  aA'iator.  and  cared  foi-  nothing  else  so  nuich  as  for 
fiying.  For  some  time,  indeed,  after  studying  this  science 
with  the  Wright  hrothers  in  Ohio  and  Starling  Burgess  at 
Marhlehead,  he  was  fiying  at  high  altitudes  under  an  as- 
sumed name,  l^oth  to  escape  notoriety  and  to  avoid  con- 
tentions with  his  family  over  the  object  of  his  lieart's  desire. 

In  the  summer  of  1911  he  entered  the  employ  of  the  law 
firm  of  Winston,  Payne,  Strawn.  and  Shaw  in  Chicago, 
where  he  remained  until  the  summer  of  1})1'3.  Then,  he- 
cause  of  trouble  \\\i\\  his  eyes,  he  droj)ped  his  legal  work, 
and  passed  the  year  before  the  war  at  his  father's  lionse  in 
Massae]uis(^tts.  and  at  Pan.  Tie  had  been  much  in  F^rance 
before,  and  t  he  oiitbicak  of  t  he  fight  found  him  ready  to  do 
whatever  he  could  for  a  conntrx'  he  loxcd  like  his  own. 

Obviously  the  best  wa.\-  for  him  to  help  France  was  as  an 
a\iat(ii-.  This  he  did,  not  only  as  an  intrc])id  individual 
flyer,  bnt  a>  the  prime  nio\cr  in  the  oi'gamzaliou  of  the 
Lafaycl  tc  |-Ncadrillc  of  I  he  l''i-<'nch  Army,  I  hat  s(|uadron  of 
Amciican  a\ialoi'>  to  whom  fell  the  honor  of  carrynig  the 
Anicricjin  flag  first  of  all  into  I  he  light  ing  at  t  he  front .  ( )ne 
of  hi>  nioxt  a<'t  i\('  collcagnc^  m  t  he  formal  ion  of  t  hi'^  nnil . 
I'Vazicr  (  iirl  i^.  of  the  Ilarxanl  (■|a^^of  IS!)S.  Iia>  writ  ten; 
"j'hc  fir^l    tunc  I  he  idea  of  an  American   l'!>cadrillc  came 


NORMAN   PRINCE 

to  Norman  was  probably  at  Marbleliead  in  November, 
1914,  when  he  suggested  it  to  me  as  we  were  flying  to- 
gether." In  the  following  month  Prince  sailed  for  France, 
and  in  January  volunteered  for  service  in  the  French  Army 
—  jusquau  bout.  He  was  sent  to  a  military  aviation  school 
at  Pau  for  training,  and  in  February  telegraphed  to  Curtis, 
who  by  that  time  was  flying  in  England,  asking  him  to 
come  to  Paris  and  help  in  forwarding  the  plans  for  an 
American  Escadrille  which  he  had  proposed  to  the  French 
War  Office.  Curtis  immediately  met  him  in  Paris,  and  with 
Elliot  C.  Cowdin  (Harvard,  '09),  and  others  joined  in  the 
endeavor  to  make  a  reality  of  Prince's  cherished  idea.  The 
obstacles  that  had  to  be  overcome,  and  the  deferred  accom- 
plishment of  the  plan  in  its  fullness  were  related  by  Cowdin 
in  the  Harvard  Alumni  Bulletin  of  March  7,  1918,  with  a 
hearty  recognition  of  Prince's  leadership  in  the  enterprise. 
"To  Norman  Prince,"  Curtis  has  also  written,  "  is  due  the 
credit  for  the  idea  of  an  American  Escadrille  and  for  its  or- 
ganization under  very  discouraging  circumstances." 

It  would  be  superfluous  to  relate  them  in  detail  in  this 
place.  They  illustrated  the  same  energy  and  tenacity  of 
purpose  which  made  Prince  the  brilliant  aviator  he  was. 
He  was  not  a  writer  of  letters  describing  his  experiences 
and  sensations  in  the  air.  But  on  one  occasion,  when  he 
returned  to  America  for  a  brief  holiday  at  the  Christmas 
season  of  1915,  he  made  a  speech  in  the  Tavern  Club  of 
Boston,  at  a  dinner  given  in  his  honor,  and  fortunately  his 
words  were  preserved.  Some  of  them  are  quoted  here  from 
the  commemorative  volume,  "Norman  Prince,  a  Volun- 
teer Who  Died  for  the  Cause  He  Loved,  with  a  Memoir  by 
George  F.  Babbitt"  (Harvard,  '7'-2).     The  two  passages 

160 


XORMAX    PRINCE 

tliat  follow  doscrilx"  his  first  l)onil)in<;  expedff  ion  and  a  later 
cxjiorieiice : 

1  lune  a  vivid  renieinl)rance  of  my  first  l)oml)arding  expedi- 
tion. The  action  tookphieeat  a  jxtint  not  far  witiiin  the  enemy's 
lines.  I  was  sent  with  (wo  or  three  members  of  my  squadron  to 
homhartl  a  station  where  ainmunilion  was  Ix-iiii;  iiiiloadecL  It 
takes  ahont  forty  minutes  for  a  hkk  liine  heavily  loaded  with 
bombs  to  ^'et  to  a  suffieient  hei}j;ht  to  cross  the  lines.  Tla*  mini- 
nnim  liei>,dit  at  which  we  erossed  was  about  seven  thousand  feet. 
I  saw  my  comrades  eross  ahead  of  me  and  noted  they  were  being 
lieavily  shelled  by  tlie  enemy.  Aeeordingly,  I  decided  to  go  a 
little  higher  before  crossing.  When  I  found  I  had  only  sufficient 
gasoline  left  to  make  my  l)oml)arthnent  and  return  to  m^•  l)ase,  I 
started  oxer.  I  was  soon  to  experi(Mice  w  hat  I  may  call  my  bap- 
tism of  fire.  The  impression  made  ui)on  mc  1)\"  tiie  terrible  racket 
and  the  spectacle  of  shells  aimed  at  me  and  exploding  near  by 
made  me  shiver  for  a  moment.  Though  I  was  confident  and  una- 
fraid, my  limi)s  began  to  tremi)le.  Still  I  kept  straight  on  my 
course.  I  would  not  have  changed  it  for  the  world.  My  legs  were 
so  wol)l)ly  from  nervous  excitement  that  T  tried  to  hide  them 
from  my  observer,  who  was  an  old  hand  at  the  game.  I  confess 
to  a  feeling  of  relief  when  I  reached  the  \nH\ii  where  our  bombs 
were  to  be  tlirown  over.  Having  discharged  this  duty  I  was  glad 
to  return  to  my  starting-point  with  the  motoi-  running  at  slow 
speed,  and  knowing  that  I  was  soon  to  be  out  of  range  of  the 
enemy's  deadly  fire. 

( )nc  day  six  drrmau  luacliiiics.  fullN'  c(|ui|)|)<'(l,  bombardcil 
Nancy  and  our  a\ialioii  field.  To  retaliate,  iny  scpiadron  was 
.sent  out  to  boiiib.ird  llieir  lield  on  the  same  afternoon.  We 
started  with  thirty  machines  to  a  desigiuited  rende/.N'ous  and  fifty 
nnnut<'s  later,  after  g<-tting  grouped,  we  proceeded  to  oiu'  ulti- 
mate (lotinalion.  I  lia<i  a  \<'r\'  fast  machine,  and  reailu'd  the 
(ierman  flying  fi<'ld  without  being  hit.  ^^  hen  ationt  to  let  go  my 
l)(»ml)s  and  whih-  m\'  observer  was  aiming  at  the  hangars  of  the 

161 


NORMAN   PRINCE 

Germans  my  machine  was  attacked  by  them  —  one  on  the  left 
and  two  on  the  right.  I  shouted  to  my  observer  to  drop  his 
bombs,  which  he  did,  and  we  immediately  straightened  out  for 
home.  While  I  was  on  the  bank  the  Germans  opened  fire  on  me 
with  their  machine-guns  which  were  even  more  perilous  than 
their  shells.  My  motor  stopped  a  few  moments  afterwards.  It 
had  given  out  and  to  make  matters  worse  a  fourth  German  ma- 
chine came  directly  at  us  in  front.  My  observer,  who  was  an 
excellent  shot,  let  go  at  him  with  the  result  that  when  last  seen 
this  German  aeroplane  was  about  four  hundred  feet  below  and 
quite  beyond  control.  The  other  Germans  behind  kept  bother- 
ing us.  If  they  had  possessed  ordinary  courage,  they  might  have 
got  us.  Flying  without  any  motive  power  compelled  me  to  stand 
my  machine  on  end  to  keep  ahead  of  them.  As  we  were  nearing 
the  French  lines  these  Germans  left  us.  As  I  was  barely  moving 
I  made  an  excellent  target.  One  shell  burst  near  enough  to  put 
shrapnel  in  my  machine.  It  is  marvelous  how  hard  we  can  be  hit 
by  shrapnel  and  have  no  vital  part  of  our  equipment  injured.  I 
knew  I  was  now  over  the  French  lines,  which  I  must  have  crossed 
at  a  height  of  about  four  hundred  metres.  I  finally  landed  in  a 
field  covered  with  white  crosses  marking  the  graves  of  the  French 
and  German  soldiers  who  had  fallen  the  previous  September  at 
this  point.  This  was  the  battle  the  Kaiser  himself  came  to  wit- 
ness, expecting  to  spend  that  night  in  Nancy. 

If  Mr.  George  Sylvester  Viereck  could  have  had  his  way 
during  the  visit  to  America  in  the  course  of  which  the 
speech  in  Boston  was  made,  Prince  would  not  have  returned 
so  promptly  to  France;  but  the  efforts  of  the  editor  of  The 
Fatherland  to  prevent  the  aviator,  through  action  on  the 
part  of  our  government,  from  rejoining  the  French  Army 
were  unavailing,  and  at  the  very  beginning  of  1916  he 
sailed,  after  a  few  distracted  hours  of  posing  in  a  New  York 
hotel  for  a  portrait  by  Mr.  F.  W.  Benson,  which  is  now  a 

16^2 


NORMAN    PRINCE 

treasured  possession  of  his  parents.  It  >li()\\s  him  as  the 
aviator  who,  besides  t'orniing  and  eontinuin^'  to  inspire  the 
Lafayette  Escadrille,  won  by  liis  own  fearless  service  the 
successive  ranks  of  ser'^eant,  adjutant,  and  heutenant.  and 
was  decorated  in  turn  with  the  Croix  de  Guerre  (with  one 
star  and  three  pahns),  tlie  Mrddillc  Milifdirr,  and  the 
(roLi  dc  hi  Lnjioii  d'llonnciir.  of  which  the  hist  was  pinned 
on  liis  l)reast  as  lie  lay  on  his  deathbed  in  tlie  Vosges.  A 
record  of  ]'22  aerial  en^aii'enients  stootl  to  his  credit  —  with 
the  destruction  of  five  (ierman  planes  officially,  and  four 
others  unofhciallv,  ascribed  to  him. 

The  circumstances  which  brought  this  remarkable  ser- 
vice to  an  end  may  best  be  described  through  a  direct  quo- 
tation from  Mr.  Babbitt's  memoir: 

( )ii  the  morning  of  Thur.*<day,  October  I'-Z  [l!)l()j,  Norman  and 
otluT  incmber.s  of  his  .squadron  were  as.signed  to  convoy  a  French 
l)oml)arding  fleet  in  an  aerial  raid  on  Oberndorf,  a  Cierman  arms 
and  munition  centre  located  in  the  \'osgcs  near  the  i)lains  of  Al- 
sace. Wliilc  circling  over  the  town,  they  came  in  close  contact 
with  a  formidable  array  of  (ierman  aircraft,  and  :i  terrific  en- 
counter ensned  in  which  shot,  shell-fire,  and  skillful  manoeiixer- 
ing  disahled  maii.\'  of  the  machines  on  Ixtth  sides.  It  was  at  tlie 
eonclusi<in  nf  tliis  hat  tie  in  the  air  that  Norman's  Nieuj)orl  ma- 
chine struck  an  aerial  cable  while  he  was  endeavoring  to  make  a 
landing'  in  tlic  dark  within  the  French  lines  iK-ar  buxcuii.  In  this 
collision  lii>  machine  was  overturned  and  wrecked  and  he  was 
thrown  xKilcnily  t<i  the  ;,'ri)UMd.  On  Itein^'  rescued  ity  his  c(im- 
rades,  it  wa^  foinid  tiiat  Ixith  lii^  iei^s  were  lirokeii  and.  a>  was 
.subserjuenf  ly  fmind,  lie  had  >u>taine(|  a  fraet  ure  of  t  he  >kull.  lie 
was  rarrierl  to  the  n<'ij;hhoring  hospital  at  (ierarduK-r,  w  h«'re  for 
a  time  he  mauifesl<'d  tlie  undaiuilecj  cniirai;*'  liiat  In-  had  always 
shown  under  ad\er>e  coudit  loii'^,  eheertiilly  re(|ne^tiii^  llie  at- 
tend ui;.'  >iir;_'eon->  w  ho  were  set  t  in;,'  I  he  liones  ot"  lii>  Itroken  le;4s  to 

1C3 


NORMAN   PRINCE 

be  careful  not  to  make  one  shorter  than  the  other!  The  skull 
fracture  was  not  discovered  until  later,  and  it  was  as  a  result  of 
this  latter  injury  that  Norman  died  from  cerebral  hemorrhage 
on  the  following  Sunday  morning,  October  15.  His  comrades 
gathered  around  his  bedside  when  he  became  finally  unconscious, 
in  the  vain  hope  of  detecting  symptoms  of  renewed  vitality,  but 
he  passed  away  peacefully  as  in  a  sleep.  Those  of  his  near  rela- 
tives who  had  been  summoned  from  Paris  arrived  at  his  bedside 
too  late  to  find  him  alive. 

The  dead  hero  was  given  all  the  honors  of  a  military  funeral, 
which  was  held  in  the  Luxeuil  aviation  field,  where  the  body 
rested  on  a  caisson  draped  with  the  American  and  French  flags. 
The  services,  which  were  conducted  by  a  French  regimental 
chaplain,  were  attended  by  a  large  representation  of  the  Allied 
military  divisions,  including  French  and  English  officers  of  high 
rank,  as  well  as  a  full  representation  of  the  American  Escadrille 
and  pilots  from  the  neighboring  aviation  camps.  During  the 
funeral,  instead  of  the  customary  firing  of  cannon  as  a  salutation 
to  the  dead,  a  squadron  of  aeroplanes  circled  in  midair  over  the 
field  in  honor  of  the  departed  aviator,  showering  down  myriads 
of  flowers.  The  body  was  borne  to  a  neighboring  chapel,  there  to 
rest  until  the  end  of  the  war,  in  accordance  with  the  military 
regulations  governing  the  temporary  disposition  of  the  remains 
of  those  dying  at  the  battle-fronts. 

A  memorial  service,  held  on  the  following  Sunday  in  the 
American  Church  in  Paris,  was  described  by  those  present  as  one 
of  the  most  impressive  ever  witnessed  in  that  sanctuary.  The 
American  colony  came  in  full  numbers  to  testify  their  admira- 
tion and  appreciation  of  their  fellow-countryman's  valor  and 
sacrifice.  The  President  of  the  French  Republic,  the  heads  of  the 
executive  and  legislative  branches  of  the  Government,  the  Army 
and  Navy  and  the  Diplomatic  Corps  were  represented  by  their 
most  distinguished  members,  and  the  emblems  of  mourning  con- 
tributed to  a  scene  that  was  as  beautiful  as  it  was  significant  and 
memorable. 


164 


XORMAX    PRINCE 

One  of  liis  conirades  in  [\iv  Kscadrillo,  J.  H.  Mc(  "oiiiioll, 
who  himself  was  soon  to  fall  in  an  air  fiyhl  with  the  enemy, 
wrote  to  a  friend,  not  lon»;  after  Xorman  Prinee's  death,  in 
a  letter  deseribing  it,  these  words  hitherto  unj)iil)lished: 
"He  was  very  brave,  and  san^  on  the  way  to  the  hospital. 
Poor  old  boy  —  bnt  then,  I  don't  think  he  minded  going. 
He'd  done  his  work  and  was  satisfied." 


EDWARD   CARTER   SORTWELL 


Class  of  1911 


iiiDWAjiD  Carter  Sort  well  was  a  native  of  Cam- 
bridge, of  which  his  father,  Alvin  Foye  Sortwell  was  mayor. 
His  mother,  Gertrude  W.  Sortwell,  now  a  widow,  is  a  resi- 
dent of  Cambridge.  He  was  born  March  25,  1889,  and 
prepared  for  college  at  St.  Paul's  School,  Concord,  New 
Hampshire.  He  studied  at  Harvard  for  three  years,  leaving 
college,  before  the  graduation  of  his  class,  on  his  father's 
death.  He  then  entered  the  employ  of  the  Ludlow  Manu- 
facturing Associates,  and  in  the  pursuit  of  this  firm's 
transactions  in  jute  was  sent  to  Calcutta.  Here  he  had 
been  at  work  for  three  years  when,  in  the  spring  of  1916, 
he  started  for  home,  via  Europe.  Stopping  over  in  Paris 
he  encountered  an  opportunity  to  join  the  American 
Ambulance  Field  Service,  and  enrolled  for  a  term  of  six 

166 


EDWARD    CARTER    SORTWELL 

months.  From  ^lay  till  Septemhrr  he  sorved  with  Section 
8  of  the  Service  in  France.  Then  came  an  opi)ortunity  to 
join  Section  3  and  go  with  it  to  Salonica;  late  in  September 
he  volnnteered  and  was  accepted  for  this  duty. 

In  a  letter  written  hy  one  of  Sortwell's  Ambulance  com- 
rades both  in  France  and  at  Salonica,  Thomas  B.  Hutiiim 
(Harvard  '1(0,  the  work  of  the  Section,  first  in  Cham- 
pagne, then  at  \  crdun,  is  described  in  some  detail.  A 
single  i)assage,  dealing  with  experiences  in  the  Verdun 
neighborhood,  and  with  Sortwell's  conduct,  will  speak  suf- 
ficientlv  for  the  nature  of  this  service,  for  which  his  section 
received  a  citation: 

From  the  hill  above  the  town  there  was  a  fine  view  of  Verdun 
itself  and  the  hills  around  it.  It  was  a  most  impressive  sight  that 
evening  to  watch  the  thousands  of  flashes  from  the  guns  flicker- 
ing up  and  down  the  valley  below  us  and  from  the  hills  on  the 
other  side.  The  next  morning  at  dawn  we  each  rode  up  to  Fort 
Tavannes  in  a  car  of  the  French  Amlnilance  Section  we  were  re- 
placing. This  was  so  we  could  learn  the  road.  For  most  of  us  it 
was  our  first  experience  under  heavy  shell  firing.  It  was  a  pretty 
exciting  nui,  but  it  was  nothing  to  what  we  were  going  to  get 
later,  ^^e  crossed  the  river  a})ove  \'erdun,  passed  through  the 
outskirts  of  the  towii  and  then  up  I  lie  hill  on  the  road  to  Etain. 
This  went  u])  (piite  a  long  hill.  Al  the  lop  we  turned  off  at  Relle- 
vue  Farm  and  went  through  a  wood  to  Fort  Tavannes.  This 
wood  was  the  worst  part  of  the  run.  It  was  always  being  shelled. 
The  road  was  full  of  shell  holes  and  lined  with  dead  and  dying 
horses,  smashed  wagons,  eais.sons  and  automobiles.  In  the  early 
liglit  of  dawn  it  was  the  most  ghastly  looking  wood  1  have  ever 
.seen.  'I'here  wasn't  nuich  shelling  goin«^  (Ui  al  that  lime  in  the 
morning  except  np  around  I  lie  I'^rl.  There  was  a  sort  di"  lumirl 
just  inside  the  ^alc  where  the  ears  stood  wiiiN-  Mie,\  were  Ix-ing 
loaded  up.    There  was  only  rooui  l<  >v  I  lui-e  a  t  a  I  une.  so  I  he  ot  hers 

167 


EDWARD   CARTER   SORTWELL 

had  to  wait  way  down  on  the  side  of  the  hill  under  the  shelter  of 
the  bank  until  one  of  the  cars  had  passed  on  the  way  down.   Lots 
of  times  they  had  to  wait  there  for  hours  on  account  of  the  Fort 
being  so  heavily  bombarded  that  the  cars  in  it  could  not  leave. 
Well,  that  night  we  tried  the  road  for  ourselves  for  the  first  time. 
Each  one  of  us  had  to  make  about  three  trips,  for  we  were  taking 
up  the  new  staff  for  the  poste  de  secours  there,  brancardiers,  doc- 
tors, etc.   The  road  was  being  shelled  almost  the  whole  way  up, 
for  it  is  at  night  that  most  of  the  traffic  goes  on.  It  was  very  dark 
and  what  wdth  all  the  confusion  and  excitement,  a  lot  of  us  got 
lost  and  fell  into  huge  shell  holes  and  were  run  down  by  big 
trucks  or  galloping  artillery.    It  is  certainly  driving  under  the 
most  trying  circumstances  I  can  think  of,  something  like  driving 
down  Fifth  Avenue  on  one  of  its  most  crowded  days  in  pitch 
darkness,  with  no  lights  except  that  from  bursting  shells  or 
cannon  going  off  right  in  your  ear,  which  was  w^orse  than  no  light 
at  all.    One  of  the  hardest  things  w^as  dodging  artillery,  which 
would  come  galloping  on  to  the  road  from  some  little  side  road  or 
open  field.  I  remember  coming  out  of  the  entrance  to  the  Fort  on 
the  first  trip.    They  were  shelling  the  road  with  shrapnel  and  it 
was  breaking  uncomfortably  near,  right  over  head.    Ed  and  an- 
other fellow  were  just  ahead  of  me.    We  were  empty,  so  we 
started  off  as  fast  as  we  could.    What  was  our  sorrow  when  we 
found  a  big  convoy  of  wagons  blocking  the  road.    They  were 
bringing  up  bags  to  the  Fort  and  the  drivers  had  all  beat  it  inside 
until  the  bombardment  slowed  up  a  little.   I  remember  that  Ed 
was  the  coolest  one  of  us.    I  know  I  was  dropping  down  flat  on 
the  ground  every  time  a  shell  would  break.   After  a  delay  which 
seemed  like  hours  to  us,  we  finally  got  a  way  cleared  so  that  we 
could  get  our  cars  by.   When  we  got  to  Bellevue  Farm  we  found 
they  were  shelling  the  cross-roads  there  heavily,  so  we  had  to 
jump  out  of  our  cars  again  and  run  do^ai  into  an  abri.     It  w^as 
pretty  well  crowded  already,  but  we  managed  to  squeeze  in.    Al- 
though very  close  and  uncomfortable  we  had  to  stay  there  about 
a  half  hour  while  each  shell  seemed  to  land  right  on  top  of  us. 


168 


EDWARD    CARTER    SORTAVEEE 

Wlieii  we  came  out  we  tliiln't  exjieel  to  liiul  iiiiythiiit;-  left  ot"  our 
cars,  but  they  were  still  there.  We  juniptii  in  and  just  tore  back 
the  rest  of  the  way.  After  the  hrdiicanliers  had  all  been  carried 
up,  we  returned  to  uur  schetlukHl  morning'  run  at  dawn,  which 
was  a  great  relief,  but  t)n  June  'U  the  (iernians  must  have  started 
an  unusually  big  attack  right  on  our  sector.  The  roads  were  just 
raked  with  shells,  and  soon  the  wounded  came  pouring  in.  Eor 
the  next  four  or  five  days  we  were  carrying  them  back  just  as 
fast  as  we  could  make  the  trij),  at  all  hours  of  the  day  and  night, 
eating  and  sleeping  whenever  we  could  get  the  chance.  Some  of 
our  cars  were  riddled  with  pieces  of  shell,  one  of  them  was  almost 
buried  by  earth  and  stones  from  the  explosion  of  a  380,  but  we 
came  through  with  the  most  wonderful  luck. 

After  AVrduii  there  was  a  quieter  term  of  .service  at  Soin- 
niedieii,  to  the  right  of  the  Verdun  sector.  Of  Sortwell's 
transfer  to  Section  .'5  and  his  journey  to  Salonica  he  wrote 
to  his  mother  on  November  3,  lOKi,  when  the  hard  journey 
was  done: 

On  September  -2'2nd  when  our  section  was  near  Nancy  en  repos, 
we  had  a  telegram  asking  for  volunteers  to  go  to  Salonica  with 
another  section.  Ten  of  us  sent  our  names  in,  and  then  we  heard 
nothing  for  four  days  when  another  message  came  .saying  that 
myself  and  two  others  were  to  report  in  Paris.  We  went  into 
Paris  the  next  day,  and  I  sent  my  cable  right  oif  to  you.  We  ex- 
pected to  leave  Paris  in  two  days,  but  were  delayed  and  (hd  not 
get  away  until  October  4tli.  I  was  awfidly  l)Usy  while  in  Paris 
l)uying  things,  working  on  the  cars,  etc.  There  are  twenty-five 
-Vmericans  in  this  section  with  thirty  ambulances.  I  knew  ((nitc 
a  ininibcr  of  the  men  who  arc  uilli  n^  before,  including  l^ovcring 
Hill  [IIar\anl,  '10|  who  is  the  .section  leader,  Charlie  Haird 
(Harvard,  "I  1|,  ^iraham  Carey  [Harvard,  '14|,  from  Cambridge. 
John  Miniroe  IIIarNard,  'I.'>|  who  wciil  to  \Viscassel  once  and 
I  )an  took  linn  to  Bool  h bay  on  Slia<la.  Wv  left  Paris  on  I  he  night 
<)l  ()(t()lnr  IJth,  for  Marseilles  on  a  Irani  wilh  all  diir  ears  and 

Hi!) 


EDWARD    CARTER   SORTWELL 

two  passenger  coaches  attached.  We  were  nearly  forty  hours  on 
the  way,  with  nothing  to  eat  excepting  what  we  could  buy  at 
stations  on  the  way.  We  then  had  to  wait  six  days  there  at  Mar- 
seilles for  a  steamer.  We  had  a  great  time  there,  went  swimming 
every  morning  in  the  ocean,  and  had  luncheon  every  day  at  La 
Reserve,  which  is  the  place  we  all  went  out  to  for  tea  two  years 
ago.  Had  several  good  motor  rides  there  also.  One  night  I  had 
dinner  with  an  Englishman  I  used  to  know  in  Calcutta,  who  is 
now  a  captain  in  the  English  Army,  stationed  at  Marseilles. 

We  sailed  from  Marseilles  on  October  21st  on  the  worst  old 
transport  imaginable.  There  were  eight  hundred  Indo-China 
troops  on  board,  and  they  were  the  dirtiest  crowd  I  ever  hope  to 
see.  We  slept  in  the  smoke-room  nights,  and  in  the  day  time  we 
had  no  place  to  go  but  the  deck.  There  had  been  no  arrange- 
ments made  to  feed  us,  but  after  the  first  day,  it  was  arranged  to 
give  us  two  meals  a  day  in  the  dining-room.  We  were  eight  days 
on  that  old  boat,  and  they  were  about  the  worst  eight  days  I 
have  ever  spent.  The  only  good  part  about  it  was  that  we  had 
good  clear  calm  weather  the  whole  way. 

We  have  been  here  now  five  days,  waiting  for  our  cars,  which 
are  on  another  boat,  to  arrive.  There  is  no  word  about  them  at  all 
as  yet,  so  we  cannot  tell  how  long  we  will  be  here,  but  as  soon  as 
we  get  our  cars,  and  they  are  uncrated  and  in  running  order,  we 
are  to  be  sent  right  away  to  the  front. 

We  are  living  here  in  tents,  eight  to  a  tent,  just  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  town.  Half  the  section  is  free  every  day,  and  I  am 
now  down  town  writing  this  at  a  very  attractive  cafe  right  on  the 
water  front,  where  we  are  going  to  have  luncheon  in  about  an 
hour.  It  is  very  nice,  as  the  street  cars  run  very  close  to  where 
our  tents  are. 

This  is  a  very  funny  place,  I  have  never  seen  so  many  cafes  in 
my  life.  The  main  street  is  all  along  the  water  front,  and  nearly 
every  place  on  it  either  a  cafe  or  a  "movie."  There  are  troops  and 
officers  here  from  about  every  army  on  the  Allies'  side,  and  you 
never  saw  such  a  conglomeration  of  uniforms  in  your  life. 


170 


EDWARD    CARTER    SORTWELL 

We  have  all  signed  up  for  seven  months,  starting  from  the 
2'-2nd  September,  which  will  get  me  through  here  the  '■2'-2n(l  Ai)ril. 
I  lie  not  know  how  soon  I  can  get  away  after  that,  luit  I  shall 
come  home  as  soon  as  possible,  j)rol)al)ly  arriving  sometime  in 
June,  and  then  I  want  to  \\iivv  tlic  siininier  in  Wiscasset. 

I  was  very  glad  of  your  letter,  also  one  from  M and  one 

from  Mrs.  \ ,  saying  that  you  were  all  glad  llial  T  had  come 

out  here,  for  I  did  not  know  how  you  would  take  it.  i  am  also 
verv  sorrv  that  I  have  been  so  lom;  in  writiiii;  \'ou.  but  I  will  trv 
to  do  l)ct ttM'  in  the  future. 

M\-  Ix'st  love  as  ever, 

Ivlward. 

Kight  days  after  writing  this  letter  he  was  struck  by  a 
heavy  motor  car  while  crossing  a  dark  street  at  night  in 
Salonica.  Another  comrade,  ( "harlcs  Baird,  wroti'  honu'  on 
November  19,  lOKK  describing  the  accident  and  its  tragic 
consecjuences: 

.V  week  ago  last  night  Eddie  Sortwell  was  hit  by  a  machine 
while  crossing  the  main  street  to  get  into  a  carriage.  He  hit  the 
cobble  .stones  hard  and  received  a  concu.ssion.  He  remained  un- 
con.scious  till  Sunday  night.  The  doctors  knew  there  was  a  clot 
somewhere,  but  as  he  didn't  regain  con-sciousness  they  couldn't 
ojKTate.  He  died  Sunday  night.  We  buried  him  Wednesday 
morning  in  the  French  Cemetery,  lb-  iiad  a  military  ser\ice  and 
an  escort  of  eighteen  soldiers  with  bayonets  fi.\ed.  Carey,  Ruf- 
fum.  .Vrnioiir.  and  Muiu-oc  were  the  pall-l>earers.  A  French 
Protestant  niinistcr  cctiKhictcd  the  scr\  ice.  I  "he  aulotiiolnlc  ser- 
vice wa>  rejiresenled  by  a  cnloiicl  and  alxiiit  Iwcnix'  men.  ^^  e 
were  all  present  e.xcejit  li\c.  I  was  to  he  a  pall-bearer,  as  was 
Hlumenthal,  l)iit  onI\'  t"our  were  necess;ir_\  .  laddie  lies  in  a  sol- 
dier's gra\-e  with  a  wooden  cross  oxer  it  with  his  name  Imrut  in 
the  cross  piece  jiist  as  the  soldiers  an-.  Fddie  was  working  in 
India  up  until  last  spring  when  he  decided  to  go  jiome  ami  see 
his  family'.    Kn  rontr  he   decided    to  jnni  the  ambulance  lUr  si\ 

171 


EDWARD   CARTER   SORTWELL 

months  and  get  home  this  fall.  Then,  when  his  time  was  up,  he 
couldn't  resist  coming  out  here  with  us.  That  meant  he  wouldn't 
get  to  Cambridge  till  next  summer.  And  here  he  was,  one  of  the 
nicest  fellows  in  the  section ;  and  here  he  lies  until  the  end  of  the 
war,  and  possibly  forevermore.  Covering  his  coffin  is  a  French 
flag  and  also  an  American  flag.  There  is  a  wreath  with  his  name 
and  an  inscription,  de  Section  Sanitaire  Americaine  3.  There  are 
many  other  bunches  of  flowers  laid  there  by  the  fellows.  Eddie's 
death  hit  me  hard  for  I  liked  him  and  he  always  had  a  glad  hand 
for  me. 

To  Sortwell's  mother  Mr.  A.  Piatt  Andrew,  Director 
General  of  the  American  Ambulance  Field  Service,  wrote 
from  Paris  on  November  28 : 

Your  son  has  left  in  the  memory  of  all  of  those  who  were  asso- 
ciated with  him,  both  in  the  section  with  which  he  first  went  to 
the  front  and  the  section  to  which  he  was  transferred,  as  well  as 
with  us  of  the  base  staff,  a  fine  record  of  arduous  and  in  many 
cases  dangerous  work,  eagerly  and  courageously  performed;  an 
example  of  manly  endurance  in  the  performance  of  duty  which 
will  not  be  forgotten.  He  was  always  ready  for  whatever  task 
was  assigned  to  him.  He  never  hesitated  and  never  shirked  be- 
fore a  dangerous  mission. 

He  is  the  third  of  our  American  volunteers  to  give  his  life  in 
the  service  of  France  in  her  great  hours  of  peril,  and  in  his  sacri- 
fice he  has  added  one  more  link  to  the  bonds  of  friendship  which 
have  bound  our  two  countries  since  their  earliest  days. 


EDGAR   ALLEN  LOW  SIIOUTT 

Class  of  1917 

JjORN  at  Staten  Island,  A])ril  17,  ISJXI,  Edward  AlltMi  Low 
Shortt  was  one  of  those  for  the  dav  of  wliose  deatli  oiilv  a 
tentative  (hite  can  he  ^iven.  He  was  reeonhMl  "missing" 
December  10,  l!)l(i.  and  it  \\a>  more  than  three  vears  hiter 
that  the  tragic  hick  of  fnrtlicr  information  (•<)mpell(Hl  his 
enrolment  among  the  "IIai-\ard  Dead." 

His  father,  tiic  late  ^^i^ia^l  Allaire  Short!,  a  New  ^'ork 
lawyer,  a  son  of  an  Episcopal  clergyman  of  Irish  hirth.  edu- 
cated at  the  I  nix'er.sity  of  I  )nl)lin.  and  reet  oi-  of  parishes  in 
the  I  iiited  States  and  (  iuiada.  was  himself  a  graduate  of 
'l'oroiit(>  I  ni\crsity.  Ai  an  uiider^^raduate  he  was  a  ser- 
geant  III  t  lie  (^ueeir>  ( )\\  II  ha 1 1 alioii  of  t  lie  (  a liadiaii  lilili- 

17.'{ 


EDGAR   ALLEN   LOW   SHORTT 

tia,  and  to  service  with  this  regiment  he  returned  when  the 
second  Riel  Rebellion  broke  out,  after  his  admission  to 
the  New  York  bar.  It  was  through  enlistment  with  the 
Canadian  forces  many  years  later  that  his  son  entered  the 
great  war. 

Allen  Shortt's  mother  was  Lucy  Elizabeth  (Low)  Shortt, 
a  daughter  of  Edward  Allen  Low,  a  China  merchant,  of  the 
New  England  family  transplanted  to  New  York  and 
Brooklyn,  and  an  uncle  of  the  Hon.  Seth  Low.  The  bov 
was  taught  to  speak  French  before  he  learned  his  native 
tongue,  and  retained  a  proficiency  in  the  language  which 
stood  him  in  good  stead  when  he  became  a  soldier.  The 
love  of  nature  which  was  a  marked  characteristic  of  his 
youth  also  served  a  valuable  purpose  in  the  training  of 
those  powers  of  observation  which  must  have  helped  him 
later  to  become  an  intelligence  officer.  After  a  trip  to  Cali- 
fornia when  he  was  nine  vears  old  his  father,  who  was  his 
companion,  reported  that  he  must  have  seen  "out  of  the 
back  of  his  head,"  so  unfailing  was  his  perception  of  birds 
and  their  species. 

His  formal  schooling  was  conducted  at  the  Staten  Island 
Academy,  broken  by  a  year  of  study  at  Rome  and  Cassel, 
Germany.  In  the  autumn  of  1913  he  entered  Harvard. 
Here,  through  his  knowledge  of  languages,  he  became  a 
councillor  of  the  Cercle  Fran(^ais,  vice-president  of  the  Cir- 
colo  Italiano,  and  a  member  of  the  Deutsche  Verein.  He 
was  also  a  member  of  the  Canadian  Club.  Since  the  age  of 
thirteen  he  had  been  a  member  of  the  New  York  Fencers' 
Club,  and  at  Harvard  he  made  the  fencing  team.  In  1914 
he  was  also  attached  to  the  rowing  squad,  until  incapaci- 
tated by  an  operation  for  appendicitis. 

174 


EDGAR    AL1>EX    LOW    SlIOKTT 

Of  his  war  service  llie  record  that  foHows  is  taken  ahnost 
verbatim  from  a  statement  })ro\  ich'd  l>y  his  family  for  the 
present  pnrpose. 

^^  hen  war  hroke  out  in  l!)14.  Short t*>  family  was  in 
Canada,  where  he  had  s])ent  all  hut  three  of  his  sunnners. 
He  wi>hed  to  join  the  army  at  once,  hut  his  father,  jnd<iin<^' 
him  too  yonn<;  at  eiiihteeu.  held  him  i)a(k.  On  his  return 
to  Harvard  he  euli>tetl  in  the  Machint>  ( inn  (  \)mi)any.  Sth 
Infantry,  Massachusetts  National  (iuard,  from  which  he 
resigned  in  the  following  s])rinu\  Before  his  father'>  death 
in  1015  Sliortt  oti'cretl  his  services  to  Canada,  l)nt  they 
were  refused,  for  he  was  then  in  a  neutral  country. 

In  the  sunnner  of  1J)1.),  having  gone,  as  usual,  to  spend 
his  vacation  in  Canada,  he  again  otiered  his  services,  claim- 
ing his  grandfather's  Irish  hirth  as  a  (|naIiHcation  to  tight 
for  the  Allies.  He  received  a  i)rovisional  lieutenancy,  was 
sent  to  an  Oliiccrs'  School,  and  attached  to  the  59lh  Bat- 
talion, 4th  Division,  Canadian  Expeditionary  Force.  Be- 
cau.se  he  s])oke  French  with  fluency  he  was  detailed  to 
Quebec  on  recruiting  duty.  At  the  end  of  lhi>  duty  he  re- 
turned to  lii>  hattalion  at  Biockville,  Ontario,  and  shortly 
aftcrwai"ds  was  luaiiicd  to  Mi>>  Marie  ( "re\'olin  Clark,  of 
Columliu>.  Ohio,  in  Kingston.  Ontario. 

Not  long  aft('rwai'(l>  lie  rcc('i\('(l  Iii>  ap])oiulment  as  a 
.^u])<'rnuiiMTai'y.  Iia\ing  prcxiou^ly  only  heen  "  at  ladicd.  " 
When  the  (  anadiau  War  Aiiiii>try,  a  week  later,  cut  olV 
sup('i'iiuincraii('>  he  rctiuc^trd  peiMuission  lo  gi\('  up  his 
rank  of  liiv^t  liculcnanl  and  (•iili>l  as  a  |>i-i\al('  in  the 
M.icliiiic  ( lUii  (  oi-|)s,>(j  that  lie  might  go  oNci'x-aN  with  his 
own  iiirii.  'i"lii>  |)(riiii~->ii  (11  was  grant<'(|.  and  on  or  al»oiit 
April  I.  lifhi.  Ik-  sailed  fui-  England  willi  lli■^  orgaiii/.at  ion. 

175 


EDGAR   ALLEN   LOW   SHORTT 

In  fifteen  days  he  was  made  a  sergeant.  Measles  broke  out 
among  the  contingent  and  a  number  of  his  fellow-sergeants 
were  taken  ill.  As  a  result  he  overworked,  and  was  himself 
later  taken  ill  with  measles,  mumps,  and  pneumonia  at  the 
same  time. 

In  less  than  two  months  from  the  time  he  left  Canada 
he  received  his  commission  as  first  lieutenant  again,  his 
colonel  remarking  upon  the  magnificent  spirit  he  had 
shown.  Granted  a  leave  of  absence  owing  to  his  illness,  he 
became  so  ill  at  the  home  of  a  cousin  in  England  that  his 
wife  and  mother  were  sent  for.  Upon  his  recovery  he  went 
to  France. 

For  gallantry  in  action  on  the  Somme,  October  8,  1916, 
he  was  awarded  the  Military  Cross  and  made  Intelligence 
Officer  of  the  58th  Battalion,  Third  Division,  Canadians. 
On  December  10,  1916,  he  led  a  raid  of  forty  men  against 
the  German  trenches  at  Neuville-St.  Vaast  near  Vimy 
Ridge.  For  this  he  had  planned  and  trained  the  men  en- 
tirely himself.  After  the  raid,  Shortt,  a  sergeant,  and  a 
private  were  reported  missing.  According  to  his  superior 
officers,  it  was  said  that  during  the  raid  a  German  sprang 
up  behind  Shortt,  who  called  out  to  his  men,  "Get  him, 
boys,"  and  rushed  after  him  into  an  adjoining  trench. 

The  sergeant  following  Shortt,  and  the  private,  were  shot 
entering  the  trench.  The  Germans  reported  the  sergeant 
as  having  died  of  wounds.  The  private  received  a  head 
wound,  was  sent  to  a  German  hospital,  and  later  repatri- 
ated. But  he  could  furnish  no  information.  Of  Shortt 
nothing  definite  has  been  heard.  There  was  a  mud  hole  at 
the  entrance  to  the  trench  into  which  he  ran  after  the  Ger- 
man.  It  was  believed  that  he  slipped  and  fell  in  the  mud 

176 


EDGAR    ALLEN    LOW    SHORTT 

hole  and  was  taken  prisoner.  It  was  reported  aLso  by  pris- 
oners taken  hy  the  hattalion  on  the  K»ft  of  the  oStli  that 
an  officer  and  non-com  were  taken  })risoncrs  in  that  trench, 
and  that  the  officer  had  expressed  himself  as  <;ratefnl  for 
the  treatment  hv  liad  received. 

It  has  also  been  reported  that  Shortt  was  .sent  in.  I>y 
orders,  without  liis  identificatii)n  (Use,  and  that  therefore 
he  would  never  have  <;iven  liis  name  or  otlier  information. 


HENRY  RICHARD  DEIGHTON  SIMPSON 


Class  of  1918 


Simpson's  first  name  was  that  of  his  father,  Henry  Wil- 
liams Simpson,  a  graduate  of  Harvard  College  in  the  Class 
of  1885,  a  lawyer  in  New  York  City.  Richard  Deighton 
was  the  name  of  his  mother's  maternal  grandfather,  whose 
daughter  Mrs.  Doria  Deighton  Jones,  a  native  of  Scotland, 
bore  an  important  part  in  the  boy's  education  and  outlook. 
His  mother,  Constance  Deighton  (Jones)  Simpson,  was,  in 
the  words  of  another  son,  the  friend,  constant  companion, 
and  inspiration  of  his  whole  life.  He  was  born  in  New  York 
City,  January  12,  1895,  had  his  preparation  for  college  at 
private  schools  in  and  near  New  York,  and  at  Eton,  where 
he  took  an  active  part  in  the  life  of  the  school.   His  record 

178 


HENRY    RICHARD    DEIC.HTOX    SIMPSOX 

there,  liis  hriet'  stay  at  Harvard,  liis  military  service  and 
his  deatli,  have  l)een  (U'seribed  as  t'oUows  l)y  a  surviving 
brother: 

At  Eton  he  distinguished  himself  at  work  and  at  play,  showing 
partieuiar  ability  at  science.  He  was  twice  "Stiit  u])  for  (iood" 
(i.e., sent  jxr.sonally  to  the  Headmaster  for  particularly  t'xcclleut 
work)  and  Jiftcr  his  first  year  took  a  "Doulilc  Remove,"  mean- 
ing tiiat  he  did  so  wt'lj  in  examinations  tli;il  lie  was  placed  ahead 
two  forms  instead  of  the  usual  one.  He  was  good  all  round  at 
sports,  but  especially  at  rowing  ;ind  showed  promise  of  becoming 
a  notable  oarsman. 

Early  in  11)14  he  took  his  '*  Eittle  do,"  the  entrance  examina- 
tion for  Caml)ridge  University  and  was  entered  for  King's  Col- 
lege. \\  the  l)eginning  of  August  he  returned  to  this  country  for 
the  sunnner  vacation,  intending  to  go  to  Cambridge  in  the  fall. 

On  the  4th  of  August.  England  went  to  war  and  Cambridge 
I  niversity  became  a  liosj)ital  and  training  station.  It  was  then 
decided  that  he  should  enter  Harxard.  He  took  up  residence  in 
Weld  in  Sejjtember,  Kut  renuiined  less  than  three  weeks.  The 
fact  that  his  friends  and  companions  of  Eton  days  had  answered 
England's  call  to  a  man  and  that  he  felt  his  place  to  l»e  with 
them,  fighting  for  the  same  princij^les  and  itieals  of  right  which 
formed  so  definite  a  i)art  of  his  character,  pro\-e(l  too  strong  an 
apjK'al  to  !»<■  re>i>lcd.  knowing  that  he  would  liaxc  to  m(H>t 
strong  oj)j)o.sition  shouhl  lie  express  his  \iews  to  his  tauiily.  he 
packe<l  a  few  necessities  and.  ha\ing  but  little  money  on  hand, 
took  a  steerage  passage  on  a  Cunarder  to  England,  writing  his 
mother  from  the  ]nvr  before  he  sailccj.  His  acconunodations  were 
changed  by  wireless,  but  he  chose,  with  the  captain's  permission, 
to  find  out  at  fir>t  hand  the  ii>uall\'  unseen  workings  of  a  luier. 
Eor  two  (la_\s  he  worked  with  the  stokers  in  >hifts  of  foiu'  hours 
on  and  four  hours  oil',  later  woi'king  in  t  he  engine  room  and  other 
parts  of  tlie  ship. 

Mrs.  Simpson  managed  to  sail  on  a  j-'rciich  hmr  I  lie  day  after 
she  receixed  jii.s  letter  and  arri\ed  in  I-]n;^land  harelv  in  time  to 


HENRY   RICHARD   DEIGHTON   SIMPSON 

prevent  his  enlisting  as  a  private.  Very  shortly  a  nomination  for 
the  Royal  Military  College  at  Sandhurst  was  obtained  for  him 
and  a  special  Army  Council  called  to  pass  on  his  nomination, 
making  it  possible  for  him  to  become  naturalized  in  less  than  one 
week's  time,  an  unprecedented  thing. 

At  the  termination  of  his  course  he  was  gazetted  to  the  Sixth 
(Inniskilling)  Dragoons  as  a  second  lieutenant.  Finding  that  at 
that  time  the  cavalry  was  more  or  less  inactive,  he  applied  to  be 
transferred  to  the  Royal  Flying  Corps.  His  application  was  ap- 
proved and  he  was  ordered  to  Shoreham  in  Sussex  for  preliminary 
training.  Here  he  qualified  and  obtained  his  "ticket"  or  pilot's 
license.  He  was  then  transferred  to  Upavon  in  Wiltshire,  for 
further  training.  From  the  first  he  showed  marked  ability  in 
aviation  work  and  this  with  his  great  enthusiasm,  energy,  and 
great-hearted  wholesomeness  made  him  a  marked  and  trusted 
man  among  the  officers  and  students  at  these  stations. 

In  August,  1915,  he  received  orders  to  go  to  the  front  and 
shortly  was  given  a  machine  to  take  with  him.  This  he  accom- 
plished by  flying  it  to  Dover  and,  refueling  there,  across  the 
Channel  to  France.  While  over  the  Straits  a  heavy  fog  came  up, 
causing  him  to  lose  direction,  and,  relying  on  instinct  alone  (the 
machine  had  not  yet  been  fitted  with  instruments),  he  landed  in 
France  some  miles  from  his  objective.  Finding  his  position,  he 
flew  on  and  joined  his  command,  the  Sixteenth  Squadron,  R.F.C., 
then  stationed  near  Amiens. 

On  one  occasion,  returning  from  a  reconnaissance  behind  the 
German  line  he  happened  to  look  back  and  saw  that  a  comrade 
in  another  machine,  the  engine  of  which  was  behaving  badly,  was 
being  attacked  by  five  enemy  planes.  He  turned  back  and  he 
and  his  observer  by  their  combined  machine-gun  fire,  downed 
one  of  the  Huns  and  drove  the  other  four  off,  escorting  the  crip- 
pled plane  to  safety.  His  observer  was  badly  wounded  and  un- 
able to  turn  in  his  report.  Consequently  it  was  with  some  sur- 
prise that  he  learned  that  the  observer  had  reported  this  action 
while  in  the  hospital,  and  that  as  a  result  he  himself  had  been 


180 


HENRY   RICHARD    DEIGHTOX    sniPSOX 

mentioned  in  Sir  John  Freneli's  dispatches  of  Jainiarv  1st,  l!)l(i, 
for  "^raHant  and  distinguished  conduct  in  the  fieUl." 

On  a  subsequent  occasion  his  ohse^^•^r  was  again  wounded  and 
all  his  controls  shot  away.  Fortunately  the  plane  was  headed  for 
the  British  lines  and,  being  a  reconnaissance  machine  was  "in- 
herently stal^le."  It  assumed  a  correct  gliding  angle  and  a  slight 
crash  was  tiie  worst  accident  to  be  expected.  A  short  distance 
from  the  ground,  however,  the  extreme  .section  of  one  of  the 
wings  collapsed  and  threw  the  machine  into  a  dangerous  side  slip. 
By  climbing  out  to  the  end  of  the  other  wing  he  managed  to  right 
the  machine  just  before  landing.  The  worst  damage  effected  was 
a  broken  landing  carriage.  By  some  coincidence  a  Canadian 
General  Staff  was  passing  through  the  field  he  landed  in,  and, 
after  his  wounded  ol)server  had  been  carried  off,  he  was  called 
over  to  give  the  details  of  the  accident  to  the  Officer  Command- 
ing. His  action  had  been  noted  with  interest  and  .some  apprehen- 
sion from  the  ground  and  the  presence  of  mind  that  had  saved 
the  life  of  his  ob.server  and  him.self  was  suital)ly  commented  on. 
For  this  he  was  again  mentioned  in  dispatches. 

After  .some  months'  active  service  at  the  front,  during  which 
he  flew  almost  every  day,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  weeks  spent 
in  a  hospital  at  Boulogne  recovering  from  injuries  received  in 
stopping  the  runaway  horse  of  a  comrade,  he  was  recalled  to  Eng- 
land to  conduct  a  .series  of  experiments  on  fast  fighting  planes  of 
anew  tyjx'.  He  had  previously  flown  the  first  Fokker  captured 
intact  from  the  enemy,  and  was  recognized  b\-  the  War  Office  as 
an  exjMTt  on  machines  designed  es.sentially  for  speed  ami  fight- 
ing. 

He  later  returnecl  lot  he  front  and  joined  tlie  Ninth  S(iuadron, 
R.F.C.,  remaining  there  until  t  he  hit  ter  part  of  1!)1(»  ulieii  lie  was 
iii\ah(le(l  trt  London  suffering  from  d\sentery  and  general  deltil- 
it\-.  While  still  (■on\ales(ing  he  was  aske(|  to  \-olunte«'r  his  mm- 
\iees  in  testing  a  new  type  of  plane  which  w  as  ealeulated  to  proNc 
faster  than  any  ot  lier  I  lien  in  existence,  lie  aiji-eed  to  do  I  lii-^  and 
on    l)eeeinli<r  •,'<(.    j!l|(I.   al    the  .loxce'^  (iiccn   Aenxlronie,   near 


IS! 


HENRY   RICHARD   DEIGHTON    SIMPSON 

London,  conducted  the  necessary  tests  in  the  presence  of  repre- 
sentatives of  the  Air  Ministry.  After  putting-  the  plane  through 
numerous  and  exacting  tests,  during  which  it  attained  a  speed  of 
more  than  one  hundred  and  forty  miles  per  hour,  he  landed  and 
reported  that,  although  it  had  behaved  admirably,  he  felt  that 
something  about  it  was  not  quite  right.  He  decided  to  take  it  up 
again  for  further  testing.  Before  he  had  reached  the  height  of 
three  hundred  feet  the  plane  collapsed  and  fell  to  the  ground. 
He  was  mortally  injured  but  was  conscious  for  four  hours  before 
he  took  his  final  flight,  from  which  there  was  no  return.  His  last 
words  showed  the  same  fine  consideration  for  others  that  he  had 
shown  throughout  his  life,  when  he  said  to  those  tending  him, 
"Don't  bother  about  me.    I  am  all  right." 

He  was  buried  with  full  military  honors  at  Crayford  in  Kent. 

At  the  time  of  his  death  he  held  the  temporary  rank  of  cap- 
tain. In  a  few  days  more  his  promotion  would  have  been  con- 
firmed. 

It  was  his  intention  to  return  to  Harvard  if  he  survived 
the  war.  His  name,  marked  with  the  asterisk  distinguish- 
ing those  who  died  in  service,  appeared  in  the  Harvard 
Commencement  programme  for  1918  among  the  many  who 
would  naturally  have  been  candidates  for  the  A.B.  degree 
at  that  time,  "but  were  unable  to  complete  their  work  be- 
cause of  their  enlistment  in  the  military  or  naval  forces  of 
the  United  States  or  of  the  Entente  Allies." 


IIOWAUD   BT'RrilAKD   LTXKS 


1.1,.  |{.    IIH.-i 


xJINKs  f'.'mic  It)  I  lit-  I  I;ir\;ir(l  Law  Scliool  iimiicdialcly 
II I X  til  lii>  ^'radiial  loii  al  I  )ail  iiioiil  li  (  Ollc^'c  w  it  h  t  lit-  (  lass 
(il  II>hi,  of  wliicli  lie  ua>  a  popiilai'  and  coiiNpiciKius  nirrii- 
l»<-i-.  Ili>  fallMi-,  l)r.  Mi-ii<'^t  Ilowai'd  l>iins,  now  of  Paris, 
foiliii-rly  of  N  f\\    ^  oik,  was  a  I  )ail  iiioii  I  li  man  In  loir  liini. 

\H'.i 


HOWARD   BURCHARD   LINES 

He  graduated  there  in  1882,  and  took  his  M.D.  degree  at 
Columbia  in  1886.  Elizabeth  Lindsay  (James)  Lines,  a 
native  of  Burlington,  New  Jersey,  was  the  mother  of  their 
only  son,  born  in  New  York,  March  5,  1890. 

In  1900  Dr.  Lines  and  his  family  moved  to  Paris,  where 
he  became  medical  director  of  the  New  York  Life  Insur- 
ance Company.  In  Paris  his  son  prepared  for  Dartmouth 
College  at  the  Anglo-Saxon  School.  The  scope  of  this 
preparation  is  suggested  by  the  fact  that  in  1908  he  passed 
the  haccalcmreat  examination  in  Latin  ei  langues  vivantes  at 
the  Sorbonne  with  honorable  mention.  Through  mem- 
bership in  the  social  organizations  of  Dartmouth,  where, 
moreover,  he  was  manager  of  the  Gun  Club,  circulation 
manager  of  one  publication  and  editor  of  another,  and, 
through  the  persistence  with  which  his  college  nickname 
of  "Rainy"  clung  to  him  —  always  a  friendly  sign  —  the 
attractive  personal  qualities  to  which  his  friends  bear  wit- 
ness are  also  suggested. 

His  legal  studies  at  Harvard  lacked  a  year  of  completion 
when  the  war  began.  He  was  then  dissuaded  from  acting 
upon  his  immediate  impulse  to  go  to  France  and  offer  him- 
self in  her  defense.  In  the  summer  of  1915,  once  he  had 
gained  the  degree  of  LL.B.  for  which  he  had  been  working, 
he  felt  himself  free,  and  set  out  at  once  for  Paris,  where  in 
September,  1915,  he  volunteered  for  the  American  Ambu- 
lance Field  Service,  to  which  he  was  attached  continuously 
except  for  a  brief  holiday  visit  to  the  United  States  in  the 
spring  of  1916,  until  his  death  in  the  Argonne  on  Decem- 
ber 23  of  that  year. 

After  his  visit  to  America  he  underwent,  at  Paris,  an 
operation  for  appendicitis  and  an  abdominal  injury  due  to 

184 


HOWARD   BrRCIIAHD    LINES 

the  lifting  of  heavy  weiglits  in  his  anihuhinoe  work,  and  be- 
sides, spent  several  weeks  in  hospital  suti'ering  both  from 
chicken  pox  and  from  grij)])e.  By  September  of  IDIO  he 
was  able  to  leave  Paris  for  the  front  "at  the  helm  of  a  three- 
ton  White  truck"  —  as  he  wrote  to  a  friend — "with  a 
trailer  consisting  of  a  completely  equipped  field  kitchen." 
To  another  friend  lie  wrote.  October  (I:  "  ^t'sd'rday  was  a 
real  day.  ^^  hile  on  a  round  for  sick  I  struck  a  floodeil  road. 
In  spots  there  was  a  foot  of  water  and  (piite  some  con- 
siderable current.  There  were  six  of  us  in  the  car  and  full 
equipment  of  four  soldiers  —  but  my  faith  in  a  Ford  was 
justified  and  we  pulled  through,  though  once  or  twice  I  had 
a  terrible  sinking  feeling  as  the  motor  nearly  died  and  I  had 
to  stop  antl  kid  it  along.  .  .  .  Three  miles  of  it  was  de- 
cidedlv  sufficient,  but  when  it  was  over  it  was  a  most  amus- 
ing  experience  to  look  back  on."  On  Xovember  '■2!),  Tvines 
wrote  to  the  same  friend:  "This  morning  one  of  the  most 
peculiar  things  I  have  ever  seen  happened.  A  shell  froju  a 
field  gun  hit  a  tree  near  the  post.  The  shell  failed  to  ex- 
plode, but  split  the  trunk  of  the  tree  for  about  half  its 
height,  went  in.  tlieu  turned  and  went  a  couj)le  of  feet 
down.  At  present  it  is  perfectly  visible  in  the  nuddle  of  the 
trunk,  the  sides  of  which  are  holding  it  like  a  \ise." 

'I'hese  letters  to  frieiid>  barely  touch  upon  his  personal 
exjjhjit.^,  which  caux-d  hiui  to  be  reconiuiended  for- 1  he  ^  roix 
de  Ciiirrrr  >liorlly  before  his  death,  on  December  'l\\,  IDlfi. 
I'hi^  \\a>  due  to  cei-ebral  uieiniigitis  following  acute  pneu- 
monia, and  was  so  clearly  recognized  by  the  military  au- 
t  horif  ies  a>  t  he  result  of  lii>  ambulance  work  t  hat  an  Army 
(  it  at  ion  (»f  January  f.  1I>I  7.  described  him  in  t  hoe  t<'rms: 
" ( 'ondiiclci/r  (h'lour  tt  coiirdt/ni.r,  rraciir  mir  pnnnh'fjDis 

185 


HOWARD   BURCHARD   LINES 

est  revenu  an  front,  a  contracte  dans  le  service  line  maladie 
grave  et  est  mort  pour  la  France.''' 

A  comrade  in  the  Ambulance  unit,  Paul  Borda  Kurtz 
(Harvard,  '16),  who  met  his  own  death  as  an  American 
aviator  in  May  of  1918,  wrote  to  his  mother  on  Christmas 
Day  of  1916,  a  letter  describing  the  burial  of  Lines  at  La 
Grange  aux  Bois,  a  village  in  the  Argonne,  near  Verdun, 
about  ten  miles  from  the  trenches.  The  letter  does  not  give 
the  facts,  reported  elsewhere,  that  the  Croix  de  Guerre, 
awarded  too  late  for  his  own  wearing,  was  pinned  to  his 
coffin,  and  that,  besides  the  French  flag  which  covered  it, 
an  American  flag  was  folded  within  by  Lines's  comrades 
as  a  pillow  for  his  head.    This  is  what  Paul  Kurtz  wrote: 

Christmas,  1916. 
Dear  Mother: 

Howard  Lines,  who  had  been  ill  with  pneumonia,  died  sud- 
denly Saturday  afternoon,  and  was  buried  this  morning.  He  was 
as  nice  a  boy  as  you  could  meet  and  was  to  be  made  sous-chef  in 
a  few  days.  Luckily  his  family,  who  live  in  Paris,  were  able  to 
get  out  here  for  the  funeral,  which  was  quite  impressive.  It  was 
raining  and  blowing  hard  when  we  got  up  this  morning,  but  to- 
wards nine  o'clock  it  began  to  clear  off  and  for  a  while  we  had  a 
little  sunshine.  One  of  the  cars  was  sent  off  to  another  camp  for 
the  Protestant  minister,  a  regular  brancardier  who  was  to  read 
the  service.  All  the  officers  who  are  connected  with  our  service 
and  those  who  are  quartered  in  the  village  were  present,  as  well 
as  a  number  of  men  from  other  sections  of  the  Ambulance  who 
were  near  enough  to  get  here. 

With  three  others  who  were  with  the  section  last  year  I  helped 
to  carry  the  coffin,  which  was  draped  in  the  French  colors  and 
covered  with  flowers,  from  the  mortuary  to  the  doorway  of  the 
hospital  where  the  simple  services  were  held.  We  four,  Dr.  and 
Mrs.  Lines  and  Miss  Lines,  stood  just  inside  the  doorway.    On 

186 


HOWARD    HrR(  HARD    I.IXES 

either  side  of  tho  door  were  three  soKhers,  the  ^aiard  of  honor. 
who  stood  with  rifles  presented  wliile  the  minister  read  the  ser- 
vices and  nuuie  a  short  and  very  apjjpopriate  speech.  ()utsi(h> 
were  Mr.  Amlrewand  former  Anihassador  Bacon,  who  had  ronu- 
up  from  Paris,  all  the  officers  and  a  lunnher  of  soldiers,  w  ho  stood 
with  bared  heads  until  it  was  over.  Then  we  lifted  the  cofKn  and 
put  it  in  the  wa<j:on  which  was  waitin<,^  wjiile  the  hody  of  a  Rus- 
sian sohiit-r  who  had  died  the  same  day,  was  placed  in  another. 
The  ^uard  of  honor  accompanied  the  wagons  with  rifles  carried 
muzzles  downward,  while  we  followed  hehind. 

Everyone  we  jiassetl  on  the  way  to  tlic  ccnictcry  saluted  or 
took  off  their  hats.  acc»)rtlin^'  to  whether  they  were  soldier  or 
civilian,  while  each  sentry  presented  arms  until  the  procession 
liad  i)as.sed.  The  cemetery  itself  is  not  \-ery  larjje,  merely  a  i)lot 
of  ^ound  enclosed  hy  a  rouu'h  fence  and  containing  perhaps  a 
hundred  ^^raves  of  .soldiers,  who  lia\-e  diccl  here,  each  one  with  a 
hlack  wooden  cross  with  the  name,  rejiiment.  and  date  of  death 
painted  in  white  letters,  and  on  each  a  roiironne  of  flowers.  We 
four  lifted  the  coffin  from  the  waiion  and  carried  it  to  the  ediic  of 
the  grave.  There  was  another  short  address  l)y  the  luiuister  and 
it  was  all  over. 

A  Dartiiioiit  li  Bed  was  estal)h'>lic(|  in  Lines's  memory  at 
the  American  And)ulaiice  Hospital  in  Paris;  a  McdaiUe 
Coimnemorative  of  I-'rancc  docs  him  furl  her  honor.  This 
decoration  wa.s  bestowed  also  upon  his  father.  Dr.  I^ines,  in 
1917,  and  in  I!)1S  he  was  made  a  ( 'lic\alicr  of  I  he  Le<i;ion  of 
HoiU)r  in  recognition  of  his  work  al  (^uai  Dcbilly  School 
foi'  the  r<'educutioM  of  i'lcncli  maimed  soldiers. 


LORD   GORELL 
(HENRY  GORELL  BARNES) 

Law  1903-04 


When  Henry  Gorell  Barnes,  of  London,  attended  the 
Harvard  Law  School  in  the  academic  year,  1903-04,  his 
father,  Ronald  Gorell  Barnes,  an  eminent  British  judge. 
President  of  the  Probate,  Divorce,  and  Admiralty  Divi- 
sion, had  not  yet  been  raised  to  the  peerage.  In  1909  he 
became  Baron  Gorell.  His  eldest  son,  the  subject  of  this 
memoir,  succeeded  to  the  title  in  1913. 

He  was  born  in  London,  January  21,  1882.  His  mother 
was  Mary  Humpston  (Mitchell)  Barnes.  He  was  educated 
at  Winchester  and  Trinity  College,  Oxford,  where  he  re- 
ceived the  degree  of  B.A.  in  1903,  and  M.A.  in  1908,  and  at 
Harvard.  Here  he  became  a  member  of  the  Kalumet  Club 

188 


LORD    (iORKI.L 

and  of  the  I'niversity  cricket  team.  Hotli  in  his  profession 
of  tlie  law  and  as  a  member  of  the  House  of  Lortis  he  gave 
proof  of  talents  of  a  hiyh  order.  Two  hooks,  "The  Divorce 
Commission"  and  "The  Reports  Suniniaii/cd  "  (prepared 
witli  a  conal)orator).  hear  his  name  as  author.  In  his  j)ri- 
vate  Hfe  he  was  fjreatly  interested  in  Masoiny.  and  for  one 
year  was  Junior  (Ji-and  Warden  of  Mniiland;  hcfoic  the 
war.  also,  he  was  chairman  of  the  Kensington  l)i\i>ion  of 
the  British  lied  Cross  Society. 

His  record  in  war  was  as  creditahK' as  in  peac<'.  ^^  lien  lie 
fell  in  action  near  ^  j)res,  January  1(>.  1!>17.  lie  liad  ^eeii 
twentv-two  months  of  continuous  service  in  France  and 
Bel<,n'um.  He  was  then  major  of  the  !)th  Battery.  7th  Lon- 
don liri<rade.  t7tli  (London)  Division  of  the  liritish  Army. 
On  Xovemher  of  1!)1(),  he  was  ^^azetted  foi-  the  Distin- 
guished Service  Ortler  for  \alor  described  in  the  following 
terms:  "he  pushed  forward  and  handled  his  battery  under 
very  heavy  fire  with  the  greatest  courage  and  skill.  Later 
he  carried  out  a  daring  reconnaissance'  and  obtained  most 
valuable  information."  The  regaid  in  which  he  wa>  held 
in  England  nuiy  be  iid'erred  from  the  fact  that  shortly 
before  hi^  death  he  was  chosen  to  second  tlu'  King's 
speech  at  the  opening  of  the  House  of  I>ords  a  cere- 
mony in  wliieh  he  did  not  li\'e  [o  |)articipale. 

Of  llic  manner  of  L(»rd  (i()reir>  death,  reported  nuM'e 
minutely  to  lia\'e  occui'i"ed  at  t  he  Railway  (  iit  t  ing  bel  ween 
lii>  battery  position  at  Lankliof  j-'arm  and  tlu'  front  neai"- 
bv,  hi^  uncle  lias  w  i  il  ten  : 

It  was  at  Lanklinf  j-'arin.  I  w ciily-lix c  liiiiiijird  yar<b  miiiIIi  oI 
Ypr<"S,  llial  lie  was  •>lnnk  li_\'  a  ^lirjl.  lie  \\a~«  taken  l<i  a  Im)n|)||;i| 
ill  I'ojMTinglM' and  died  in  a  few  ll(•ll^■^.    I  w  a--  in  I  lial  |iarl  ofllic 

IS!) 


LORD   GORELL 

country  last  summer  and  met  several  of  the  men  of  Henry's  regi- 
ment, and  took  down  what  they  said  of  him.  All  united  in  say- 
ing that  he  was  a  splendid  officer,  and  that  the  men  would  have 
followed  him  anywhere.  He  plainly  inspired  deep  affection.  He 
was  buried  in  the  cemetery  near  the  C.  C.  S.  between  Poperinghe 
and  Steenwoorde,  and  we  had  a  great  and  splendid  cross  made  of 
great  oak  beams  from  the  cloisters  of  Ypres  Cathedral  erected 
over  his  grave. 

To  these  words  should  be  added  the  tributes  of  two 
friends.  The  first,  from  "J.  M."  appeared  in  the  London 
Times  for  January  19,  1917. 

I  knew  Lord  Gorell  well,  and  to  know  him  was  to  love  him. 
He  was  endowed  with  many  of  the  qualities,  and  among  them 
sagacity,  penetration,  and  thoroughness,  which  made  his  father 
one  of  the  foremost  judges  of  his  generation.  But  he  had  also 
gifts  all  his  own  which  endeared  him  to  many  and  which  seemed 
to  ensure  a  career  of  distinction.  In  all  that  he  touched  ■ —  and  in 
his  short  life  that  was  much  —  he  succeeded,  and  always  with 
ease.  His  work  as  secretary  of  the  Divorce  Commission  revealed 
his  business  capacity,  and  in  the  preparation  of  the  memorable 
Report  of  the  INIajority  his  father  was  greatly  assisted  by  him. 
He  had  already  obtained  considerable  practice  at  the  Bar  when, 
on  succeeding  to  the  peerage,  he  left  the  legal  profession.  In  the 
House  of  Lords  his  speeches  were  much  commended,  and  he 
pro\'ed  a  \'ery  effective  member  of  the  Parliamentary  Com- 
mittees on  which  he  served.  In  illustration  of  his  many-sided 
activity,  it  may  be  mentioned  that  he  took  a  keen  interest  in 
Masonry,  and  that  last  year  he  was  Junior  Grand  Warden  of 
England. 

Lord  Gorell's  interest  in  the  Territorial  scheme  from  the  out- 
set was  great.  In  March,  1915,  he  took  the  battery  of  which  he 
was  in  command  to  the  front,  and  he  remained  in  command  of  it 
until  his  death.  His  duties  as  an  officer  were  performed  with 
that  thoroughness  which  marked  all  that  he  did. 

190 


LORD    COR ELL 

His  many  frioiuls  will  rt'^ri't  that  a  cart'cr  rich  in  promix.'  has 
been  cut  short.  They  will  think  often  of  the  lo>>  of  a  hri^ht, 
sinii)le,  and  strong  spirit,  of  one  who  did  his  (hity.  whatever  it 
might  he,  witii  a  certain  grace  and  winning  gaiety,  with  modesty 
and  ahicrity .  ( )nly  a  few  weeks  ago  when  home  on  leave  for  some 
days  - —  he  had  In^en  abroad  continuously  for  nearly  two  Ncars  — 
he  spoke  of  the  "mystery"  of  the  strug^U'  in  which  so  many  of 
his  friends  had  fallen,  but  with  calm  assurance  as  to  what  it  was 
for  him  to  do.  Among  the  nian\ .  (luty-Io\ing  and  faithful,  w  hom 
the  insatiable  battlefield  keeps,  none  will  be  missed  more  than  he. 

The  second  was  from  a  Harvard  friend,  Major  Francis 
T.  Colby,  T'.S.A.,  of  the  Class  of  1905,  serving  as  lieutenant 
in  the  LStli  liclgian  Field  Artill(M-y.  ILK.F.,  al  llic  linicliis 
tribute  to  Lord  (lorell  ai)})earc(l  in  the  llarrurd  Ahiiinii 
Bulletin  of  ALirch  ^l\),  1})17: 

Harvartl  has  l(»st  another  of  her  sons  and  oui-  of  the  noblest  of 
her  race:  Major  Lord  (lon'll,  D.S.O.,  was  killed  in  action  on 
January  IG.  He  fell  after  two  years  of  war,  commanding  the 
same  l)attery  that  he  commanded  at  the  outbreak  of  hostilities. 

Tiie  friends  whom  he  made  at  Harvard  are  many  and  lifelong, 
as  was  the  warndiearted  friendship  which  he  ga\-e  to  them  in  re- 
turn. Those  of  us  who  knew  and  loxcd  him  as  Henry  (lorell 
Barnes  during  his  life  at  the  University  will  remember  him  with 
a  clearness  which  the  \-ears  cannot  alter.  Jlis  warm,  highly  re- 
fincfl.  and  unselfish  personality  made  liiiii  at  once  our  friend,  al- 
though he  came  to  Har\  ard  a  foreigner  from  our  niother-eonnt  ry, 
while  his  splendid  clia  racier  con  una  nde<  I  our  res|)C(| .  J  le  showed 
even  then  abo\'e  all  other  (|uali  ties  llic  power  and  \  igoron-  energy 
of  his  mind,  w  hich  later  enabled  liim  to  rise  w  it  li  >n(  h  rapidil.x  in 
liis  profession  of  the  law,  to  s<-r\c  with  >ucli  well  recogni/ed  efii- 
ciency  as  his  father's  secretary  on  llic  Koval  l)i\orce  ("onunis- 
sion  and  in  oilier  e\eculi\'e  and  legal  jxisitious  ol  nn|»orlancc. 
When,  after  his  fallicr's  dcjitli,  lie  t(.ok  his  |)lacc  on  liie  ( 'ro.ss 
]{en<lies  of  I  he  I  bill >e  of  I  ,i  ir(b  ,i >  ,i  I'ecr  of  I^nglaiid,  his  marked 


LORD    GORELL 

abilities  and  earnest  application  quickly  gained  for  him  the  re- 
spect of  the  House,  and  it  became  clear  that  in  him  was  to  be 
found  one  of  the  future  men  of  the  Empire. 

To  those  of  us  who  have  knoTVTi  him  in  France  and  Belgium 
during  the  past  two  years  of  war  another  side  of  his  remarkable 
personality  was  shown.  His  highly  trained  judicial  mind  was  ap- 
plied to  the  soldier's  profession,  and  with  it  was  coupled  the  man 
of  action  and  of  tireless  physical  energy.  He  combined  strangely 
the  many,  often  conflicting,  qualities  which  make  up  a  good  bat- 
tery commander.  His  battery  was  splendidly  organized,  trained, 
and  disciplined,  and  he  was  intensely  loved  by  his  officers  and 
men.  He  was  an  excellent  horseman  and  horsemaster.  His  fire 
was  delivered  with  speed  and  accuracy,  and  his  gun  positions 
were  always  carefully  prepared.  The  day  before  his  death  he 
showed  me  a  nearly  invisible  gunpit  which  had  resisted  two 
direct  hits. 

He  was  decorated  with  the  Distinguished  Service  Order  for  a 
most  daring  and  highly  successful  reconnaissance  between  the 
hostile  lines  at  the  battle  of  the  Somme. 

As  we  carried  him  on  our  shoulders  to  his  last  resting  place  in 
a  foreign  land,  for  whose  defense  he  had  given  his  life,  and  buried 
him  with  full  military  honors,  we  felt  that  his  loss  was  not  the 
least  of  England's  sacrifices. 


ADDISON   T.1:K(H    BLISS 

Class  of  1914 

±  H  K  war  record  of  Addison  Leecli  Jiliss  is  cxtroiuoly  hricl'. 
Early  in  January.  1!)17,  lie  rcsifrnod  a  husincss  position  in 
Pittsburgh  to  enter  tlie  American  Anihnlance  Field  Sci- 
vice.  He  saile<l  for  France  Jannai'y  ^21 .  Immediately  on 
reaching  Paris,  after  a  >torniy  \oyage,  he  contracted  a  cold 
fioni  which  j)nciiiiioina  dcxclopcd.  He  was  taken  to  the 
American  Hos|)ital  at  Nciiilly.  and  I  here  died  I^'ehi-iiary  ',',*. 
1I»I  7,  lr»  I  jian  a  mont  h  after  taking  sliip  from  t  he  I  niled 
States. 

M\<  father  was  ( 'hestei-  W  illi.iiii  Hli>s,  df  Host  on,  a  iiiciii- 
Iter  of  I  lie  [I;ii-\  ard  ( 'la>s  of  ISS  I-.  ;i  son  of  \\  illi.iiii  Hli>~-  and 
Margaret  (('ha|)in)  Hliss.  of  Springhi'ld.  M.i--saeliii-et  I  s. 
Ili^  mot  lie;-  \\a>  Isadora   'Leech)    Rlis>.  a  nati\eol    Leeeli- 


ADDISON   LEECH   BLISS 

borough,  Pennsylvania.  Their  son,  the  subject  of  this 
memoir,  was  born  in  Springfield,  November  21,  1891. 
From  early  schooling  in  Springfield,  he  passed  to  the  Fay 
School  and  St.  Mark's  at  Southborough,  Massachusetts. 
At  St.  Mark's  he  was  captain  of  the  football  team  in  his 
sixth  form  year,  and  at  Harvard,  which  he  entered  in  the 
autumn  of  1910,  was  a  member  of  the  freshman  eleven. 
Here,  too,  he  belonged  to  the  Institute  of  1770,  the  Hasty 
Pudding,  Sphinx,  and  Polo  Clubs.  His  second  undergradu- 
ate year  was  passed  at  Haverf  ord  College,  his  third  entirely 
at  Harvard;  at  Christmas  of  his  fourth  year  he  left  college 
and  entered  the  employ  of  the  Ellsworth  Collieries  Com- 
pany, at  Ellsworth,  Pennsylvania,  and  then  of  the  Union 
Collieries  Company,  of  Pittsburgh.  Of  this  company  he 
was  a  director,  concerned  especially  with  installation  work. 
From  this  employment  he  went  direct  to  France,  and  his 
death. 

Between  the  lines  of  this  short  story  much  may  be  read 
in  the  light  of  two  sentences  found  in  the  Class  Report  of 
1914  next  following  his  death:  "There  was  no  member  of 
the  Class  of  1914  whose  loss  would  be  more  deeply  grieved. 
His  generosity,  geniality,  and  whole-heart edness  made  him 
one  of  the  most  lovable  men  it  is  given  us  to  know." 


IIENin     .MONTr.OMKKV   sr(   KLKY 

Class  of  1!)1() 


OUCKLKV  was  iKiiiicd  lor  lii>  prandial  licr,  llic  Kc\.  I)r. 
ITcnry  K^linton  Montiroiiicry.  second  rcclor  of  I  lie  (  Imrcli 
ol'  I  Ik-  Iiicarnal  ion.  New  ^  oik  (ity.  Al  a  >»'i-\ic('  in  mem- 
ory o  I"  Il(in\\"  Sucklcy  the  picx  nl  rector  of  I  )r.  Mon(^M)in- 
try's  |)aris|i  defined  Ins  |)redec<'s>or  as  ;i  man  ol  nnhoniuied 
\ilalily,  of  (pnCk  and  impidsixc  syinjjalliy,  of  ardeni   pa- 


HENRY   MONTGOMERY   SUCKLEY 

triotism,  and  possessed  of  a  very  genius  for  friendship;  and 
went  on  to  say:  "it  is  natural  to  look  for  these  traits  in  his 
grandson,  and  take  satisfaction  in  seeing  their  interplay  in 
the  formation  of  a  new  character," 

The  boy  was  born  in  Orange,  New  Jersey,  February  18, 
1887,  the  son  of  Robert  Bowne  Suckley,  and  Elizabeth 
(Montgomery)  Suckley  of  Rhinebeck,  New  York.  Here  on 
the  Hudson  and  at  schools  in  Switzerland  and  Germany, 
Suckley  was  prepared  for  the  one  year  of  special  prepara- 
tion to  enter  Harvard  which  he  received  at  Phillips-Exeter 
Academy.  From  1906  to  1910,  when  he  took  his  A.B.  de- 
gree, he  was  a  student  at  Cambridge.  Here  he  played  on 
the  soccer  football  team,  and  belonged  to  the  Cercle  Fran- 
Qais,  and  the  Aero,  Freshman  Debating,  Institute,  D.K.E., 
Hasty  Pudding,  and  Zeta  Psi  Clubs.  On  graduating  from 
college  he  travelled  in  Europe,  and  then  entered  business 
in  New  Y^ork,  where  he  was  at  work  when  the  war  came. 

He  must  be  counted  among  the  Americans  who  gave  the 
earliest  heed  to  the  call  from  Europe,  for  he  was  one  of  the 
thirty-three  college  men  who  sailed  with  Mr.  A.  Piatt  An- 
drew in  November  of  1914  to  enter  the  American  Ambu- 
lance Field  Service.  Through  the  ensuing  winter  he  served 
with  Section  3  of  that  service,  in  the  Vosges  Mountains, 
driving  an  ambulance  provided  by  St.  Paul's  School.  "His 
letters  to  the  school,"  said  the  Rev.  Howard  C.  Robbins  in 
the  address  already  quoted,  "afforded  unconsciously  an 
insight  into  his  character.  He  is  continually  expressing 
solicitude  for  the  wounded  men  under  his  care.  Every  jolt 
over  the  rough  roads  is,  he  knows,  anguish  to  them,  and  his 
letters  show  how  lively  his  sympathies  were,  and  how  assid- 
uous his  care."    During  the  German  attack  in  the  Vosges 

196 


HEXRV    MONTGOMERY   SUCKLEY 

liis  l)i-a\n'ry  in  action  won  In'ni  \]\c  Croix  dc  (lurrrc  and  pro- 
motion to  suus-livutcnuitt  under  Iiis  classmate,  l^ovcrin^' 
Hill.  Ilokling  this  rank  he  served  w  ith  Section  '>  at  ^Talze- 
ville.  ^'erdll^.  and  Pont-a-^Fonsson,  and  constantly  dis- 
tin^nisheil  himself  l)y  execnti\-e  ahilily  and  coolness  undei" 
shell-fire.  The  citation  he  recci\cd  wl'ilc  in  the  \'osges  tes- 
tified to  lii>  (jualities  in  the  following  tcrni>: 

Citation  a  hi  (Kicine  Oixisioii 

Le  Conducteur  Sl'CKLEY,  II..  de  la  Section  Sanitaire  Ame- 
ricaine  No.  '■2,  sujet  Aniericain: 

A  de  nonveau  fait  preuve  (run  devouemcnt  di^Mie  des  plus 
grands  eioges  en  assurant  nuit  et  jour,  j)endant  tjuinze  jours, 
avec  un  parfait  niepris  du  dan^'cr,  Tevacuation  de  ii()nil)reux 
l)lesses  sur  une  route  de  niontagne  constamnient  Imttue  ])ar  des 
projectiles  ennemis. 

In  Sef)tend)er  of  1J)1()  he  returned  to  America  to  recruit 
and  organize  a  new  section  for  the  Ambulance  Field  Ser- 
vice, for  which  his  uncle,  Mr,  Henry  Montgomery  of  New 
York,  secured  from  memb(^rs  of  the  Xew  ^'ork  Stock  Ex- 
change the  fuiid>  re(juired  for  twenty  uew  and)ulances. 
When  he  i-etui'iied  to  France  in  NoN-cmher  this  uin't  was 
placed  under  hi-  command  and  ordered  to  Saloniea.  ifei-e 
he  served  until  his  death,  March  !!>.  I!)I7,  from  I  lie  ell'ects 
of  l)ond)ing  by  an  enemy  airplaue.  Ili>  conduel  on  lliis 
front  had  caused  (ienerai  Sarrail  to  pi-ojxysc  hiin.  before  liis 
death,  foi'  the  Eegion  of  Honor,  aiid  won  from  an  ollieial 
of  the  I''iel<l  Ser\'ice  liic  statement  that  "of  the  niauy 
hundred  Americans  who  hax'c  come  and  gone  ui  I  hi>  >er\iee 
(hiring  the  pa>l  t  w  o  years,  lie  w  as  one  nl  the  I  hree  or  four 
(III  w  honi  \\c  most  depended,  and  w  ho  was  most  hketj  and 
tni>led  b\    lho>e  who  wdrked  with  him  and  for  him." 


1!> 


HEXRY   MONTGOMERY   SUCKLEY 

The  circumstances  of  his  death  at  Koritza  in  Albania  on 
March  19  from  wounds  received  the  previous  day  at  Zem- 
lak,  nearby,  are  related  in  a  letter  from  Gordon  Ware 
(Harvard,  '08),  whose  account  of  the  capture  of  the  avi- 
ator responsible  for  Suckley's  death  must  be  given  for  its 
picture  of  the  conditions  under  which  our  ambulance  men 
were  working: 

On  March  18  came  the  news  that  Henry  Suckley,  our  chef, 
had  been  hit  by  an  avion,  and  on  the  19th  he  died  in  the  hospital 
at  K.  It  took  place  at  Z.,  our  former  camp  forty  kilos  from  here, 
where  he  had  gone  to  see  about  some  supplies,  etc.  They  were  in 
the  dining-tent  at  one  o'clock,  Henry  and  R.  Outside  was  W. 
cleaning  his  car.  At  the  first  explosion  Henry  went  outside  to  in- 
vestigate, and  the  second  bomb  struck  him,  shattering  his  hip. 
R.  threw  himself  flat  and  escaped  injury.  Henry  lay  there  smil- 
ing and  said  in  French:  "I  am  hit."  "  Je  suis  touche  aussi,"  said 
the  lieutenant's  chauffeur,  who  had  received  a  slight  wound.  An 
Albanian  and  a  Frenchman  were  killed  outright,  the  kitchen  was 
riddled,  and  the  cook  wounded  in  the  leg.  Pieces  of  eclat  went 
into  W.'s  car, missing  him.  D.  had  his  wrist  scratched  and  S.  had 
a  hole  in  his  coat.  Two  more  bombs  fell  near  our  imocciipied 
sleeping  tent. 

W.  cranked  up  his  car  and  took  Henry,  smiling  and  smoking, 
to  K.  "If  I'm  going  to  pass  out,  I'll  have  a  cigarette  first,"  he 
said,  the  calmest  of  the  lot.  The  lieutenant's  chauffeur,  who  is 
the  butt  of  every  one,  proved  himself  a  real  hero  and  refused  aid 
and  transportation  until  Henry  had  been  attended  to.  At  K. 
everything  possible  was  done  for  him,  but  only  his  strong  consti- 
tution enabled  him  to  last  the  night,  an  artery  having  been 
severed.  He  suffered  little  and  was  always  conscious,  not  realiz- 
ing until  the  end  that  he  was  going.  Bright  and  cheerful,  even 
the  doctor  broke  down  when  he  went.  It  gives  an  idea  of  the 
man's  charm  that  he  could  so  grip  strangers,  and  it  is  difficult  to 


198 


HENRY    .MONTGOMERY    SlC'KLEY 

measure  our  regard  for  him  after  thrtn*  montlis'  close  association. 
As  a  section-leader  he  worked  like  a  dojj.  and  asked  nothin<r  of 
anyone  which  lie  would  not  do  himself.  The  hardest  thing  is  that 
he  must  go  before  the  section  can  make  or  break  itself.  'Hie 
Legion  of  Honor  was  wired  him. 

IIenr\-  was  l)uried  at  K.  on  the  -.Mltli.  l)iit\-  kept  me  here,  and 
I'm  glad.  I  jjrefer  that  my  last  impression  of  him  should  he  the 
short  talk  we  had  on  the  day  of  his  death  when  1  passed  him  on 
the  road.  In  the  evening  1  took  the  par>on  who  conducted  the 
funeral  l)ack  to  the  advanced  post.  lie  was  a  thoroughbred.  Re- 
ing  the  only  Protestant  hereabouts  —  a  Frenchman  —  he  had 
come  down  on  horseback  from  the  first  line  of  trenches  and  (»f- 
fered  his  services.  He  described  the  funeral  at  which  the  French 
accorded  our  dead  every  honor.  .  .  . 

Early  this  morning,  the  iJochi'  a\ion  appeared-  (he  one 
which  killed  Suckley  - —  and  about  eleven  it  was  sighted  flying 
low  over  the  mountains  to  the  east.  In  fact  he  was  very  low  ,  and 
downi  the  road  came  the  snap  of  rifle-fire  as  they  took  j)ot-shots  at 
him.  Nearer  and  nearer  he  flew,  following  the  road;  .so  it  seemed 
that  it  must  be  his  object  to  mifraiUeuse  the  camj).  Following 
orders,  we  were  heading  for  the  abris,  when  it  became  perfectly 
evident  that  he  must  be  in  trouble.  He  was  not  more  than  one 
hundred  feet  up  aiul  de.scendinge\('ry  niiniile.  as  if  in  seardi  of  a 
landing-place.  It  ((tuJd  no!  be  otherwise,  as  he  was  too  good  a 
target  for  the  rifle-fire.  Vnwv  hundred  yards  from  us  lie  chose  a 
fi<'ld,  swoojx'd  down  apparently  always  in  j)erfect  control  of 
his  machine  -  fill,  at  tiic  niorncnl  of  alighting,  a  sliarj*  turn  of 
tli(  wlicel  capsized  her  and  she  la\'  on  her  side,  the  Mack  crosses 
on  lier  l»cll_\-  staring  at  us.  The  rush  tot  lie  nhris  slopped  and  t  lie 
rate  to  the  luachitie,  which  was  bla/.itig  briskly,  lteg:in.  The 
rec<»llect  ion  of  our  own  frage(j\-  was  loo  fresji  to  make  us  wish 
anything  but  liarin  to  the  occupants,  and  it  was  more  like  a 
Southern  l\iicliing  mob  I  lian  a  lied  (  f  nss  seel  inii  t  jial  s|  reamc<| 
<)\er  till-  field  in  the  \-an  of  a  tlioi|s,ind  i-"reiielimeii  yelling  with 
jo\    at    I  he  pIlLjIll   of  I  lie  a\  ioll. 


li*;» 


HENRY   MONTGOMERY   SUCKLEY 

It  wasn't  pretty,  but  to  give  what  credit  can  be  given,  I  think 
we  were  all  relieved  to  see  the  two  men  emerge  more  frightened 
than  hurt  and  approach  the  on-coming  mob  with  raised  hands, 
crying,  "Kamerad,  Kamerad."  They  were  instantly  surrounded 
by  a  jostling  throng,  more  curious  than  ugly,  though  it  was  neces- 
sary for  them  to  appeal  to  a  French  officer  to  stop  the  soldiers 
from  cutting  off  their  buttons  as  souvenirs.  As  the  officers 
seemed  inclined  to  do  little,  I'm  glad  to  say  it  was  an  American 
who  finally  shamed  the  mob  into  letting  them  alone — and  I  hope 
this  will  be  scored  to  the  credit  of  our  own  memento-seeking 
tourists.  The  men  were  white  and  frightened,  uncertain  as  to 
their  reception.  As  their  French  was  not  good  they  could  hardly 
have  been  reassured  by  a  lieutenant's  threat  to  shoot  them  — 
emphasizing  the  point  with  drawn  revolver  —  should  their  de- 
nial that  there  were  bombs  in  the  machine  prove  false.  The  offi- 
cer was  a  good-looking  young  chap  with  a  keen,  American-like 
face.  His  non-com  was  of  the  caricatured  Prussian  type,  bull- 
necked,  bullet-headed,  and  brutal  in  appearance.  The  officer 
had  three  decorations,  including  the  inevitable  Iron  Cross,  "ie 
moteur  est  ■ —  est  —  en  panne,"  he  said  hesitatingly,  and  claimed 
that  it  had  been  going  badly  all  the  morning  and  at  length,  catch- 
ing fire,  had  forced  his  descent,  accidentally  unsuccessful.  I 
think  he  deliberately  capsized  it  so  as  to  destroy  it. 

Meanwhile  the  burning  machine  was  given  a  wide  berth  by 
the  crowd,  as  the  fire  had  reached  the  ammunition  and  constant 
crackling  of  cartridges  resulted.  Half  a  dozen  signal-rockets  like- 
wise exploded  in  a  half-hearted  manner.  The  camera  fiends  were 
the  first  to  enter  the  danger  zone,  and  the  ruins  were  still  smoul- 
dering when  the  souvenir  hunters  swooped  down  like  Albanians 
on  a  dead  horse.  I  found  myself  in  a  tug-of-war  with  a  Chasseur 
d'Afrique  for  a  bit  of  canvas  with  the  black  cross  on  it.  He  won. 
In  an  incredibly  short  time  fire  and  scavengers  had  left  nothing 
but  the  big  motor  standing.  The  prisoners  were  marched  off  to 
headquarters.  They  were  the  pair  who  had  killed  Henry  Suckley.' 

'  Harvard  Alumni  Bulletin,  May  24,  1917. 


PRINTED  AT 

THE  HARVARD  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 

CAMBRIDGE,  MASS.,  U.S.A. 


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Series  9482 


UC  S01.'''HER\  nf  GtO*<*L  UBRARV  FACILITY 


AA      000  295  473    o 


I'tff'fM* 


Mt 


